d so long as I live on
earth, or dwell in eternity, my soul and your soul are knit
together."

Three weeks later, on December 28, 1903, Miss Barclay wrote to Mr.
Ward as follows:--

"Your letter and father's letter were on my desk when we returned
from our cruise. I have just finished writing to him, and I herewith
return your ring and your pin."

There was neither signature nor superscription--just those words. And
a month later, Miss Barclay wrote this letter to her Grandmother
Barclay in Sycamore Ridge:--

"MY DEAR, DEAR GRANNY: I have told mother what you wrote of father,
and we are coming home just as soon as we can get a steamer. We are
cabling him to-day, and hope to sail within a week or ten days at
the very farthest. But I cannot wait until I see you, dear, to come
close into your heart. And first of all I want you to know that I
share your views about the heart-break of all this money and the
miserable man-killing way it is being piled up. I know the two men
you speak of--father and the president of the N.P.C. But he is my
father, and I must stand by him, and brace him if I can. But, oh,
Granny, I don't want the old money! It has never made me
happy--never for one minute. The only happiness I have ever had was
when he was at home with us all, away from business--and--but you
know about that other happiness, and it hurts to speak of it now. I
have not read what you sent me. I can't. But I will keep it. That it
is true doesn't help me any. Nothing can help me. It is just one of
those awful things that I have read of coming to people, but which I
thought never could possibly come to me. Oh, Granny, Granny, you who
pray so much for others, now pray for me. Granny, you can't cut
something out of you--right out of the heart of you, by merely
saying so; it keeps growing back; it hurts, and hurts, and keeps
hurting; even if you know it is cut out and thrown away. They say
that men who have had legs cut off can feel them for months and even
years if they are cramped when they are buried. The nerves of the
old dead body reach through space and hurt. It is that way with me.
The old dead thing in my heart that is buried and gone keeps
cramping and hurting. You are the only one I can come to, Granny. It
hurts mother too much, and she is not strong this winter. I think it
is worry. She is