And when she and Sam married, how gracious and forgiving she would be to all those bad-hearted people; how she would shame them for their evil thoughts against her mother and herself! The Susan Lenox who sat alone at the little table in the dining-room window, eating bread and butter and honey in the comb, was apparently the same Susan Lenox who had taken three meals a day in that room all those years--was, indeed, actually the same, for character is not an overnight creation.

Yet it was an amazingly different Susan Lenox, too.

The first crisis had come; she had been put to the test; and she had not collapsed in weakness but had stood erect in strength.
After breakfast she went down Main Street and at Crooked Creek Avenue took the turning for the cemetery.

She sought the Warham plot, on the western slope near the quiet brook.

There was a clump of cedars at each corner of the plot; near the largest of them were three little graves--the three dead children of George and Fanny.