“That letter,” said Roma to herself, “will reveal nothing of which she ought for the present to remain in ignorance. She will think that my dear Will has fulfilled all Aunt Ruth’s dark predictions, of which she caught an echo when she was with us before the wedding. She will think that he is insane; and, ah, me! she may not be far wrong. She will be sorry for me, and she will write to me; but, let us see—she must not direct her letters to Mrs. William Harcourt here. It would be embarrassing; nor can I tell her not to do it without giving her the explanation that it is impossible now to give. I must add a postscript to that letter of mine.” She drew the sheet toward her, and wrote: “P.S.—Direct all your letters to me under cover to Mr. Amos Merritt, Louisiana Avenue, Washington.” Then she wrote a short note to her late guardian and present attorney, merely saying: “My old friend, from whom I have no secrets, I reinclose Miss Bushe’s letter, with my answer to it. You will readily understand my policy. You will please receive all the letters that she may write to me, and inclose them to me as in this instance. Please mail my letter to Miss Bushe from the Washington post office.” She placed the two letters in the same envelope with this note, and addressed the package to Mr. Merritt. Having done this, she went to work to answer her foreign letters. While Roma was so engaged her little protégée, with her double-funnel hat on her head, wandered away into the delightful garden, which, to her apprehension, was a very Garden of Eden. It was a very large garden, covering quite a quarter of an acre. It was formally laid out in squares, like the streets of the Quaker City. But its luxuriant growth of shrubs and fruit bushes along every walk between vegetable beds, hid all angles. It was entered by a south gate leading to the broad middle walk that ran the full length of the ground to the north wall, which was entirely hidden by a thick hedge of raspberry bushes, now a mass of white blossoms. On the right of the gate, as you entered, in the southeast corner of the wall, was a group of three peach trees, now in full, pink flower. All through the garden, here and there, where they would not interfere with the growth of vegetables or flowers, were isolated fruit trees—pear, quince, apple, plum and cherry trees. In the walks near the house was an affluence of roses over arbors and trellises, and around the edges of the vegetable square, further away, pot herbs and small fruits took the place of the flowers. But now, not only all the spring flowers and all the roses were in bloom, but all the fruit trees and bushes and vines were in full blossom, and the whole garden was one outburst of beautiful color. In the morning the birds sang there in a concert of joy and praise. But it was now near midday, and they were silent.