She was shocked at the girl's appearance. During their months of separation she had often thought of her as she had moved about the kitchen, calling up the pleasant picture of a daintily dressed young woman, quiet in her movements, smiling upon her as she put the last touch to the table before their meal. She had never seen her untidy or seriously perturbed. But this figure before her was a distorted image of its former self. The hair was rough and loose, the dress had dark stains, the hands were soiled. And in the white, thin face were both anger and fear. "Don't touch me," she said, as Kathleen went toward her. "Listen to what I'm saying. I am going South to-morrow, with my brother. You know I said I had a brother. He is hurt, in the hospital, but they'll let him go with me to-morrow." "Then he's not badly hurt," Kathleen said soothingly, "if they'll let him go so soon." "He is badly hurt," Hertha cried, her voice sharp and hoarse. "But he's going with me to-morrow. We must go. My mother is dying." A vivid remembrance of Hertha's avowal that her mother had been dead for many years flashed through Kathleen's mind. "Yes, my mother," Hertha said, noting the look of bewilderment. "My mother, my own mother. Don't you touch me," her voice rose to a scream and she pushed her friend back as she approached her. "You don't want to know me, you don't want to be near me. I'm colored!" With a sob Kathleen drew the girl close in her arms. The body she clasped was tense as steel, but regardless of resistance she held the slender form close, kissed the cold cheek, touched with her lips the soft hair and little ear. With her strong, capable hand she caressed the girl's small head and kept repeating, "My darling, as though that mattered!" and "Why should you be thinking anything of that!" and "As if that mattered, mavourneen!" Hertha, still tense, lifted her face. "Don't try to comfort me," she said. "I don't ask for any one's pity. You mustn't say what you don't mean." "What do you take me for?" Affectionate indignation was in Kathleen's speech. "What sort of devil would I be if I cared for a thing like that! Now don't fret any more, darling, but sit down while I make you a cup of tea." Hertha did not move from where she stood, but gripped her friend, a hand on either shoulder, looking into her face. And as Kathleen looked back she felt as if the gleaming eyes, utterly sorrowful, were searching her very soul. Cursing herself for her former selfishness, she prayed that her heart might be read aright that the love which overflowed it for this friend whose hidden sorrow she had never understood, might shine now in her face. She said nothing, understanding that Hertha sought for an avowal deeper than words. Evidently she found it. Dropping her hands she sat down in the chair which Kathleen had placed for her. "I believe you," she said solemnly. "And now I'll tell you the whole truth. I'm not colored, I'm white."