Her sister's made her both sorry and angry--a most disagreeable feeling--as when you step on the cat on the stairs.

Ross's letter she held some time without opening.
She was in her little upstairs room in the evening.

She had swept, scoured, scalded and carbolized it, and the hospitally smell was now giving way to the soft richness of the outer air.

The "hoo! hoo!" of the little mourning owl came to her ears through the whispering night, and large moths beat noiselessly against the window screen.

She kissed the letter again, held it tightly to her heart for a moment, and opened it.
"Dearest: I have your letter with its--somewhat surprising--news.