She dared not trust the sacred memory only to her heart, lest the obliterating years should steal it from her.

And then, by and by, she gathered up all her power of endurance, and quietly went back to Ashurst.

That last night in the little low-browed parsonage not even Alfaretta was with her.

Gifford left her on the threshold with a terrible fear in his heart, and he came to the door again very early in the morning; but she met him calmly, with perfect comprehension of the anxiety in his face.
"You need not be afraid for me," she said.

"I do not dare to be a coward." And then she walked to the station, without one look back at the house where she had known her greatest joy and greatest grief.
* * * * * The summer had left spring far behind, when Gifford Woodhouse came to Ashurst.
He could not stay in Lockhaven; the tragedy of John Ward had thrown a shadow upon him.