read.

She cried a little after she had crept into her bed--her own old bed;
but they were just tears of feeling, not of desolation. The oak tree was
tapping against the house, the breeze, carrying familiar scents, blew
through the room. She was back home. All the sadness surrounding her
homecoming could not keep out the sweet feeling of being back that stole
through her senses.

Next morning she went about the house with new poise; she was quiet, but
it was of a different quality from the quiet of the day before. Flora
Copeland found herself thinking less about maintaining her carefully
thought out manner toward Ruth. She told herself that Ruth did not seem
like "that kind of a woman." She would forget the "difficult situation"
and find herself just talking with Ruth--about the death of her sister
Mary's little girl, of her niece who was about to be married. There was
something about Ruth that made one slip into talking to her about things
one was feeling; and something in the quiet light of her tired sweet
eyes made one forget about not being more than courteous. Even Laura
Abbott, the nurse, found herself talking naturally to this Ruth Holland,
this woman who lived with another woman's husband, who was more "talked
about" than any woman in the town had ever been. But somehow a person
just forgot what she really was, she told a friend; she wasn't at all
like you'd expect that kind of a person to be. Though of course there
were terribly embarrassing things--like not knowing what to call her.

Between Ruth and Harriett things went much better than they had the day
before. Ruth seemed so much herself when they met that afternoon that
unconsciously Harriett emerged from her uncertainty, from that fumbling
manner of the day before. The things holding them apart somehow fell
back before the things drawing them together. They were two sisters and
their father was dying. The doctor had just been there and said he did
not believe Mr. Holland could live another day. They were together when
he told them that; for the moment, at least, it melted other things
away.

They stood at the head of the stairs talking of things of common
concern--the efficiency of the nurse, of Ted, who had been with his
father more than any of the rest of them, for whom they feared it would
be very hard when the moment came. Then, after a little pause made
intimate by feeling shared, Harriett told when she would be back,
adding, "But you'll see to it