e of that little sinister
cough of her husband's, which she made light of but never forgot; partly
because she wished to spare him the publicity of the nine days' wonder
that their marriage was.

But it was a publicity she need not have dreaded. Slowly enough, there
had come about a great change in the feeling of the community toward
Basil Kildare's widow; and when it was learned that she was at last
relinquishing her great estate to marry the man for whom she had waited
twenty years, the thing that had been scandal became suddenly romance.
Kate woke one day to find herself a heroine.

There was a constant passage of vehicles Stormward in the fortnight she
remained there, ranging from humble farm-wagons to luxurious limousines;
for not only her neighbors shared in the ovation, but people from her
girlhood's home recalled the old-time friendship, and made haste to
renew it. Something of the Bishop's influence might be felt here,
perhaps; something, too, of the influence of young Mrs. Thorpe, whose
brief stay among them had been by no means forgotten.

Kate accepted it all with a pleased surprise; received her guests, when
she had time, in all friendliness, but with a certain reserve which was
partly shyness. She found very little to say to people, especially
women, of her own class, after all these years; and they went away to
speak with some awe of one who seemed dedicated, set apart from life,
like a nun who is about to take the veil. It was very different talk
from that which had raged around the name of Kate Kildare twenty years
before!

When at last she turned her back on Storm forever, her going was
something in the nature of an Hegira. She took with her certain members
of her household, notably Big Liza, who had grown too old in her service
to adapt themselves to other ways; also a few favorite horses, and those
of the dogs for whom she had not found suitable homes; to say nothing of
cattle, hogs, and poultry, chosen for the purpose of showing Jacques'
mountaineers how livestock ought to look.

This cavalcade was joined in the village, somewhat to Kate's dismay, by
the Ladies of the Evening Star, in a body, also the Civic League, with a
brass band, which accompanied her to the train, playing all the way as
lustily as for a funeral. The final act of the performance was the
presentation, rather fussily overseen by Philip's successor, of a
mammoth bouquet of Spring blossoms, raised in the reclaimed dooryards of