It was almost dark when they came home, and I had been back in bed for some time. Caro came in looking distractingly pretty, and sweeter than a naughty child should. I knew by the lavish bounty of her caresses that she had treated David very badly indeed, and was torn between a desire to take her in my arms and get the whole story out of her, and a wish to set her in the corner till she should return to her normal state of mind. But I remembered what I had promised David months ago, and repressed my itch to meddle. She had always confided in me before, and unless she did now I must be dumb. David, I did not see until morning. He had brought Caro home and had returned at once to Chatterton, sending me word he had an engagement and would not be at home until after I was asleep. It was after midnight when I heard him come in. This morning he came to my room as usual, but his eyes looked as if he had not slept. I pretended to see nothing, because he wished it.—But what had happened to Caro? If she had been at Cousin Jane’s I might have suspected some mischief-making; but she went only to Grace’s. Whatever caused the change, it goes deep. She has been in her own room all day, and I have not even heard her sing. * * * * * _May 12th._ Caro has left us and gone to Cousin Jane’s—gone there to live. She went day before yesterday, and I have felt too stunned to think. She stayed in her room all day, except at lunch time, and came out late in the afternoon, looking white and tired, but with that same danger signal in her eyes. I was under the maple, and she sat on the stool beside my cot. “Mammy Lil,” she began, with a forced lightness, as though she spoke only of trifles, “I’ve been packing my traps today. You’re so much better now, you don’t really need me all the time, and I think I ought to go to Cousin Jane. Cousin Chad’s my real guardian, you know; and they’ve been awfully good about lending me to you when you were so sick.” I felt blinded at first by the blow. “Lending” me Caro—when she had never stayed a whole month together away from me since she was seven years old, except for the years at boarding school! My head swam, and there was such a roaring in my ears I couldn’t hear all she said. She wasn’t looking at me, but her voice went on with the foolish words, till I pulled myself together. “Has Cousin Jane been trying to make you think it’s your duty to go and wait on her, Caro, after you’ve grown up in this, your real home? She doesn’t need you, child; there’s no call for such a sacrifice.” “She hasn’t said a word about needing me,” protested Caro. “I just think I ought to go.” “Are you sure—forgive me, dearie—but do you really think she wants you there to live—for always?” “I telephoned her this morning. I’m sure she’s delighted. She does love me,—only it’s in her queer way.”