"Leave me, Helen," she cried, through her grievous sobs. "Don't come
near me. Go, go. Don't look at me; don't come near. I'm not fit to
live. I'm a--murderess. It's I--I who've killed him. Oh, God, was
there ever such punishment. No--no. Go away--go away. I--I can't bear
it."

Horrified beyond words, stunned and confused, poor Helen knew not
where to turn, or what to do. She stood silently by--wondering. Then,
without reasoning or understanding, something came to her help just as
she was about to yield to her own woman's weakness once more.

She moved out of the room, nor did she know for what reason. Nor was
her next action any impulse of her own. Mechanically she set about the
housework of her home.

It was her salvation, the salvation of the situation. She worked, and
gradually a great calm settled upon her. Thought began to flow.
Practical, helpful thought. And as she worked she saw all those things
she must do for poor Kate's well-being.

It was a long and terrible day. And when night fell she was utterly
wearied out in mind and body. She had already prepared a meal for
Kate, which had been left untouched, and now, as evening came, she
prepared another.

But this, like the first, was never partaken of by her sister. When
she went into her own bedroom, where Kate had remained, to make her
second attempt, she found to her relief and joy that her sister was
lying on her bed sound asleep.

She stole out and closed up the house for the night.

Nor was Helen prepared for the miracle of the next morning. When she
arose it was to find her bedroom empty, and her bed made up. She
hurriedly set out in search of her sister. She was nowhere in the
house. In rapidly rising dismay she hurried out to search the barn,
fearing she knew not what. But instant relief awaited her. Kate was
outside doing all those little necessary duties by the livestock of
her homestead, which she was accustomed to do, in the calm unruffled
fashion in which she always went about her work.

Helen stared. She could scarcely believe her eyes. The miracle was
altogether beyond her comprehension. But her delight and relief were
profound. She greeted her sister and spoke. Then it was that she
realized that here was no longer the old Kate, but a changed, utterly
changed woman. The big eyes, so darkly ringed, no longer smiled. They
looked out at her so full of unutterable pain, as full of dull aching
regrets. There was such a depth of yearning and