of Zora close to her
breast, staring wide-eyed into the darkness--thinking, thinking. In the
morning the party would come. There would be Mrs. Grey and Mary Taylor,
Mrs. Vanderpool, who had left her so coldly in the lurch before, and
some of the Cresswells. They would come well fed and impressed with the
charming hospitality of their hosts, and rather more than willing to see
through those host's eyes. They would be in a hurry to return to some
social function, and would give her work but casual attention.

It seemed so dark an ending to so bright a dream. Never for her had a
fall opened as gloriously. The love of this boy and girl, blossoming as
it had beneath her tender care, had been a sacred, wonderful history
that revived within her memories of long-forgotten days. But above lay
the vision of her school, redeemed and enlarged, its future safe, its
usefulness broadened--small wonder that to Sarah Smith the future had
seemed in November almost golden.

Then things began to go wrong. The transfer of the Tolliver land had not
yet been effected; the money was ready, but Mr. Tolliver seemed busy or
hesitating. Next came this news of Mrs. Grey's probable conditions. So
here it was Christmas time, and Sarah Smith's castles lay almost in
ruins about her.

The girl moaned in her fitful sleep and Miss Smith soothed her. Poor
child! here too was work--a strange strong soul cruelly stricken in her
youth. Could she be brought back to a useful life? How she needed such a
strong, clear-eyed helper in this crisis of her work! Would Zora make
one or would this blow send her to perdition? Not if Sarah Smith could
save her, she resolved, and stared out the window where the pale red
dawn was sending its first rays on the white-pillared mansion of the
Cresswells.

Mrs. Grey saw the light on the columns, too, as she lay lazily in her
soft white bed. There was a certain delicious languor in the late
lingering fall of Alabama that suited her perfectly. Then, too, she
liked the house and its appointments; there was not, to be sure, all the
luxury that she was used to in her New York mansion, but there was a
certain finish about it, an elegance and staid old-fashioned hospitality
that appealed to her tremendously. Mrs. Grey's heart warmed to the sight
of Helen in her moments of spasmodic caring for the sick and afflicted
on the estate. No better guardian of her philanthropies could be found
than these same Cresswells. She must, of course