n was not entirely without the homely virtues of the average man.
He had been a good husband and father; he had once been very fond of his
Cousin Margaret; and he was really very sorry that "circumstances" had
"compelled" him to act as he had done in that old affair of her father's
investment. "You must be my guest to-night."

"Thank you. I must return home to-night," said the Old Lady firmly, and
there was that in her tone which told Andrew Cameron that it would be
useless to urge her. But he insisted on telephoning for his carriage to
drive her to the station. The Old Lady submitted to this, because she
was secretly afraid her own legs would not suffice to carry her there;
she even shook hands with him at parting, and thanked him a second time
for granting her request.

"Not at all," he said. "Please try to think a little more kindly of me,
Cousin Margaret."

When the Old Lady reached the station she found, to her dismay, that her
train had just gone and that she would have to wait two hours for the
evening one. She went into the waiting-room and sat down. She was very
tired. All the excitement that had sustained her was gone, and she felt
weak and old. She had nothing to eat, having expected to get home in
time for tea; the waiting-room was chilly, and she shivered in her thin,
old, silk mantilla. Her head ached and her heart likewise. She had won
Sylvia's desire for her; but Sylvia would go out of her life, and the
Old Lady did not see how she was to go on living after that. Yet she sat
there unflinchingly for two hours, an upright, indomitable old figure,
silently fighting her losing battle with the forces of physical and
mental pain, while happy people came and went, and laughed and talked
before her.

At eight o'clock the Old Lady got off the train at Bright River station,
and slipped off unnoticed into the darkness of the wet night. She had
two miles to walk, and a cold rain was falling. Soon the Old Lady was
wet to the skin and chilled to the marrow. She felt as if she were
walking in a bad dream. Blind instinct alone guided her over the last
mile and up the lane to her own house. As she fumbled at her door,
she realized that a burning heat had suddenly taken the place of her
chilliness. She stumbled in over her threshold and closed the door.

VI. The October Chapter

On the second morning after Old Lady Lloyd's journey to town, Sylvia
Gray was walking blithely down the wood lane. It was a beautiful