The logs were piled beside the door of the small kitchen David had built for her, and where he had placed the cook stove. She had come up early this morning, because she was sad over his last letter, in which he had told her of his disappointment in having to cancel his passage to America. Hopeful and cheery though the letter was, it had struck dismay to her heart; it was her way when sad, and longing for her husband, to go up to her little cabin--her own home--and think it all over alone and thus regain her equanimity. Here she read and thought things out by herself. What strange people they were over there! Or perhaps that was so long ago--they might have changed by this time. Surely they must have changed, or David would have said something about it. He never would become a lord, to be one of such people--never--never! It was not at all like David. A figure appeared in the doorway. "Cassandra! What are you doing here all by yourself?" It was Betty Towers. Cassandra ran joyfully forward and clasped the little woman in her arms. Almost carrying her in, she sat her by the pleasant open fire. Then, seeing Betty's eyes regarding her questioningly, she suddenly dropped into her own chair by the table, leaned her head upon her arms, and began to weep, silently. In an instant Betty was kneeling by her side, holding the lovely head to her breast. "Dearest! You shan't cry. You shan't cry like that. Tell me all about it. Why on earth doesn't Doctor Thryng come home?" Cassandra lifted her head and dried her tears. "He was coming. The last letter but one said he was to sail next day. Then last night came another saying the only man who could look after very important business for him had been thrown from his horse and hurt so bad he may die, and David had to give up his passage and go back to London. He may have to go to Africa. He felt right bad--but--" "Goodness me, child! Why, he has no business now more important than you! What a chump!" Cassandra stiffened proudly and drew away, taking up her shuttle and beginning her work calmly as if nothing had happened to destroy her composure. "I've not written David--anything to disturb him--or make him hurry home." "Oh, Cassandra, Cassandra! You're not treating either him or yourself fairly." "For him--I can't help it; and for me, I don't care. Other women have got along as best they could in these mountains, and I can bear what they have borne." "But why on earth haven't you told him?" Cassandra bent her head lower over her bit of lace and was silent. Betty drew her chair nearer and put her arms about the drooping girl. "Can't you tell me all about it, dear?" "Not if you are going to blame David." "I won't, you lovely thing! I can't, since he doesn't know--but why--"