She went alone to the green corner of the "old" Bolingbroke cemetery where her father and mother were buried, and left on their grave the white flowers she carried.

Then she hastened back to Mount Holly, shut herself up in her room, and read the letters.
Some were written by her father, some by her mother.

There were not many--only a dozen in all--for Walter and Bertha Shirley had not been often separated during their courtship.

The letters were yellow and faded and dim, blurred with the touch of passing years.

No profound words of wisdom were traced on the stained and wrinkled pages, but only lines of love and trust.