That was all he said, and Katy, after smoothing his silvery hair a moment, kissed his cheek and then stole away, wondering if the love to which she was going was equal to the love of home, which, as the days went by, grew stronger and stronger, enfolding her in a mighty embrace, which could only be severed by bitter tears and fierce heart-pangs, such as death itself sometimes brings. In that household there was, after Katy, no one glad of that marriage except the mother, and she was only glad because of the position it would bring to her daughter. But among them all Morris suffered most, and suffered more because he had to endure in secret, so that no one guessed the pain it was for him to go each day where Katy was, and watch her as she sometimes donned a part of her finery for his benefit, asking him once if he did not wish he were in Wilford’s place, so as to have as pretty a bride as she should make. Then Marian Hazelton glanced up in time to see the expression of his face, a look whose meaning she readily recognized, and when Dr. Grant left the farm-house that day, another than himself knew of his love for Katy, drawing her breath hurriedly as she thought of taking back the words, “I never will,”—of revoking that decision and telling Katy what Wilford Cameron should have told her long before. But the wild wish fled, and Wilford’s secret was safe, while Marian watched Morris Grant with a pitying interest as he came among them, speaking always in the same kind, gentle tone, and trying so hard to enter into Katy’s joy. “His burden is greater than mine. God help us both,” Marian said, as she resumed her work. And so amid joy and gladness, silent tears and breaking hearts, the preparations went on until all was done, and only three days remained before the eventful tenth. Marian Hazelton was going home, for she would not stay at the farm-house until all was over, notwithstanding Katy’s entreaties were joined to those of Helen. “Perhaps she would come to the church,” she said, “though she could not promise;” and her manner was so strange that Katy wondered if she could have offended her, and at last said to her timidly, as she stood with her bonnet on, waiting for Uncle Ephraim, “You are not angry with me for anything, are you?” “Angry with _you_!” and Katy never forgot the glitter of the tearful eyes, or their peculiar expression as they turned upon her. “No, oh, no; I could not be angry with you, and yet, Katy Lennox, some in my position would _hate_ you, contrasting your prospects with their own; but I do not; I love you; I bless you, and pray that you may be happy with your husband; honor him, obey him if need be, and above all, never give him the slightest cause to doubt you. You will have admirers, Katy Lennox. In New York others than your husband will speak to you words of flattery, but don’t you listen. Remember what I tell you; and now, again, God bless you.”