She rose, and carried the letter to her bedroom, folding it again in its envelope. It did not belong in her desk. Such a message from the woman who had long been her ideal was a thing apart. She placed it in the back of a drawer in her dresser, and there her hand encountered a scrap of paper which she drew forth. Its clear lettering stood out against the ivory-white background. "Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree--" She read no further. The calendar again! She recalled also that leaf which in the studio she had marked for Mrs. Porter's reproach:-- "When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, then the Lord will take thee up." She dropped the papers and covered her eyes again with her hands. "Oh, Mother, Mother!" she moaned above her breath. "How could God, if there is a God, comfort me as you would!" Supposing immortality, in which every Sunday in church she declared her belief, were really true. Supposing her father and mother were together. Supposing her mother were now consoling him for his mistakes,--for Bertram King's mistakes,--would that thought not bring consolation? Her worried father! Her lonely father! She sank into a chair, weeping helplessly. She had worn his pearls and danced, while he was lonely! If she could only die and go to her father and mother. Life here was ruined, and no one needed her. Harriet was engrossed with her family. Aunt Belinda's heart was in her home, stern duty alone holding her in this place. After a few minutes the mourner lifted her bowed head, pulled a sheet of paper toward her, and wrote:-- * * * * * I am bleeding. Please write to me again. LINDA. When she had addressed the note to Mrs. Porter, she washed her face and made herself ready for the tête-à-tête dinner with her aunt, which would shortly be served in her sitting-room. She had never entered the dining-room since the last meal she ate there with her father. She set her door open in order that Aunt Belinda should not be afraid to come in, and shortly the much-tried lady did appear, her lips set in a line of endurance. Miss Barry had never approved less of her niece than at the moment of the girl's exit from that business interview. She gave a sharp glance now at her, sitting as usual with eyes gazing from the window at nothing, and hands loosely folded in her lap. "Harriet left her good-bye for you," she said. "She had to hurry home for Harry's supper." "Yes," responded Linda. Miss Belinda sat down, and the gaze she fixed on her niece waited for an explanation or an apology. None came. Miss Barry cleared her throat. "Harriet wishes to put herself on record," she said distinctly, "as entirely disowning any such feeling toward Mr. King as you expressed." "You know he is her husband's cousin," returned Linda passively. "One must keep harmony in a family."