This was in the winter, and Katy had been very sick since then, while Morris had come to believe that Wilford was forgotten, and when, as she grew stronger, he saw how her eyes sparkled at his coming, and how impatient she seemed if he was obliged to hurry off, hope whispered that she would surely be his, and his usually grave face wore a look of happiness which his patients noticed, feeling themselves better after one of his cheery visits. Poor Morris! he was little prepared for the terrible blow in store for him, when one day early in April he started, as usual, to visit Katy, saying to himself, “If I find her alone, perhaps I’ll ask if she will come to Linwood this summer;” and Morris paused a moment beneath a beechwood tree to still the throbbings of his heart, which beat so fast as he thought of going home from his weary work and finding Kate there, his little wife—whom he might caress and love all his affectionate nature would prompt him to. He knew that in some points she was weak, but then she was very young, and there was about her so much of purity, innocence, and perfect beauty, that few men, however strong their intellect, could withstand her, and Morris felt that in possessing her he should have all he needed to make this life desirable. She would improve as she grew older, and it would be a most delightful task to train her into what she was capable of becoming. Alas for Dr. Morris! He was very near the farm-house now, and there were only a few minutes between him and the cloud which would darken his horizon so completely. Katy was alone, sitting up in her pretty dressing gown of blue, which was so becoming to her pure complexion. Her hair, which had been all cut away during her long sickness, was growing out again somewhat darker than before, and lay in rings upon her head, making her look more childish than ever. But to this Morris did not object. He liked to have her a child, and he thought he had never seen her so beautiful as she was this morning, when, with glowing cheek and dancing eyes, she greeted him as he came in. “Oh, Dr. Morris!” she began, holding up a letter she had in her hand, “I am so glad you’ve come! Wilford has not forgotten me. He has written, and he is coming again, if I will let him; I _am_ so glad! Ain’t you? Seeing you knew all about it, and never told Helen, I’ll let you read the letter.” And she held it toward the young man leaning against the mantel and panting for the breath which came so heavily. Something he said apologetically about being _snow blind_, for there was that day quite a fall of soft spring snow; and then, with a mighty effort which made his heart quiver with pain, Morris was himself once more, and took the letter in his hand. “Perhaps I ought not to read it,” he said, but Katy insisted, and thinking to himself, “It will cure me sooner perhaps,” he read the few lines Wilford Cameron had written to his “dear little Katy.”