But a community, like a family, is upset by an unusual event, and the starting of the quarry, the investment in its stock, and the final return of Jess from the city, to distribute among them sums so out of proportion to their original investments, were like so many stones thrown into a placid mill pond. And had Winn Hardy returned with Jess, or come later, his reception would have been like that of a conquering hero. All this formed the sole topic of conversation for weeks, and hearing Winn lauded to the skies as a benefactor, before whom all should bow, had a peculiar effect on Mona. She, poor child, having little in common with any other and feeling herself of small account to them or even to her mother, felt herself still less so as this wave of universal applause for Winn swept over the village. Then another point of pride arose in her mind. While Winn had sought her society often, it was as a next-door neighbor and by force of situation, rather than as a suitor, she felt; and even his visits to the cave with her were due to a romantic taste and his wish to hear her play. All this was, in a way, both right and wrong, and yet to Mona, keenly imaginative, it seemed entirely true. Then, too, her mother had made her feel that her violin playing was no credit; no one else, except Jess, ever expressed a word of interest in her one talent, and poor Mona readily felt it more a discredit than otherwise. Winn only had seemed to appreciate it, and to Winn her heart had opened like the petals of a wild rose. For a few days after his departure, she lived in a seventh heaven of sweet illusions with this one king among men as her ideal--his every word and smile and thought, all that life held for her. And then came his letter which, to her tender heart and timid nature, seemed but a cold farewell message. He had no plans, was uncertain of his future, and of hers had no concern. This much she read between the lines, and reading thus, her heart was broken, her courage crushed. How many tears she shed no one knew; how many hours she passed alone in utter misery of mind, no one guessed. For Mona was proud as well as tender, and not even Uncle Jess should know that she suffered. Now the waning summer, the nearing of chill autumn, and desolate ice-bound winter added to her gloom. Her mother was not a sympathetic companion, mates among the other island girls of her own age she had none; only Uncle Jess, her violin, the cave, the flowers, and the sea. In summer she had company, in winter none, except Jess. And now summer was gone and winter nearing, and poor, timid, tender, friendless Mona was broken-hearted.