Before the letter was finished she received a second mailed in Chicago, and announcing her cousin’s marriage with Mark Hilton. “I know you will be shocked,” Helen wrote. “I am, myself, when I think seriously about it. I am not sorry, though, that I did it. I am only sorry for the part where Craig is concerned. I treated him shamefully, but he will get over it. His love for me was not as deep as that of Mark, who took me knowing what I am, while Craig would have turned from me with loathing when he found that I detested Browning, which is among the least of my deceptions.” There was more in the same strain, with protestations of perfect happiness and the intention again expressed of having Alice live with her. From this proposal Alice turned as from the other, though for a different reason. There was nothing left her now but school teaching, which she disliked more than she cared to own. “It is such drudgery and I am so glad when 4 o’clock comes,” she often said and was saying it that March afternoon when Craig Mason was on his way to change the whole tenor of her life. She had staid after school to look over some essays and copy-books and was preparing to go home when she heard a step on the walk. It was a scholar returning for something, she thought. A knock on the door, however, indicated a stranger, and hastening to open it she stood face to face with Craig Mason. “Oh!” she cried, with a ring of joy in her voice as she gave him both her hands. Then, remembering that this was rather a forward greeting she tried to release them, but Craig held them fast. He had heard the joy in her voice and seen the gladness in her eyes and felt nearly sure of his answer before the question was asked. She had put on her blue hood which was very becoming to her and she had her cloak on her arm preparatory to going home, but she allowed Craig to lead her back into the room where they sat down together by the stove before either spoke a word. “Where did you come from and when?” she asked, and he replied, “From Boston yesterday,—from Ridgefield this morning. I spent the night at the Prospect House.” “Oh, Ridgefield,” Alice exclaimed, clasping her hands which she had withdrawn from Craig’s. “I was thinking of Ridgefield and the happy summer I spent there and wondering if I should ever see it again. I’m afraid not.” “Why not?” Craig asked, and she replied, “I don’t know except that my life is here, teaching school. Tell me about them,—Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, I mean. I know that Mr. Hilton and Jeff are gone.”