Linda recalled her far-away gaze and looked at her aunt. She saw her now, not as a negligible figure with too-long earrings and too-thin hair, brushed with a New England thoroughness which concealed rather than exhibited what there was of it. Aunt Belinda was a fellow sufferer, and Linda recognized it, but without sympathy. She turned back to the sorting of the articles in the open drawer. Her handbag lay there, and a piece of paper projected from it. She took out the crumpled leaf, and remembered how on one of those remote happy days she had gone to Mrs. Porter's studio and discovered her departure. She had torn off a leaf of the calendar, and seeing no place to bestow it had crumpled it and placed it in her bag. She straightened it now, reflecting on the date, and how little she had known then that it was one of the days she would now give half her life to recall. The clearly printed words looked up at her, and her eyes rested on them heavily. "Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree; and instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle tree." In the present passionate longing to escape from her nightmare, the words seemed significant. Oh, if they could be anything but words! If there were any hope! Her lips moved as she read the verse again. Her aunt was watching her, motionless, helpless, dim-eyed. "Did you ever hear this, Aunt Belinda?" she asked, and read the sentences aloud in her colorless voice. "I think I have," responded Miss Barry. "It's in the Bible, I think." "Yes, it's in Isaiah," returned the girl, her eyes on the paper. "I tore it off Mrs. Porter's calendar. It's a calendar of promises. What's the use of promises made thousands of years ago?" Her breath caught in her throat. "Mrs. Porter is very fond of you, Linda," ventured Miss Barry. The girl nodded. She seemed to see the soft light in her teacher's eyes. The calendar message would probably find response in her optimism. "We took a course in the Bible at school," she went on. "We had to; but Mrs. Porter says she reads it because she likes to. I gave her this calendar as a kind of a joke." Miss Barry made no comment on the dreary irreverence. "I haven't told you," she replied, "that Mrs. Porter is keeping house in my cottage." The girl turned her slow regard upon the speaker. "When the right time comes," went on Miss Barry, "I want you should go back with me, Linda." "I wish to stay here," returned the girl quickly, "and, Aunt Belinda, I don't want you to wait. I know you must long to get home, and there's nothing, really nothing, for you to wait for here. All I wish is to be quiet and just stay where--" her throat closed. She glanced once more at the calendar leaf, and started to drop it in the basket, but changed her mind and put it back in the open drawer. "All in good time, Linda," was the reply. "Here are some flowers Mr. King brought you."