ome,
but inwardly raging with contending tides. In her own sight she was a
disgraceful failure, a prodigal sneaking back to the ease and protection
of loyal friends who did not know her truly. Every familiar landmark
in the approach to the city gave her a thrill, yet a vague unsatisfied
something lingered after each sensation.

Then the train with rush and roar crossed the Harlem River to enter New
York City. As one waking from a dream Carley saw the blocks and squares
of gray apartment houses and red buildings, the miles of roofs and
chimneys, the long hot glaring streets full of playing children and
cars. Then above the roar of the train sounded the high notes of a
hurdy-gurdy. Indeed she was home. Next to startle her was the dark
tunnel, and then the slowing of the train to a stop. As she walked
behind a porter up the long incline toward the station gate her legs
seemed to be dead.

In the circle of expectant faces beyond the gate she saw her aunt's,
eager and agitated, then the handsome pale face of Eleanor Harmon, and
beside her the sweet thin one of Beatrice Lovell. As they saw her how
quick the change from expectancy to joy! It seemed they all rushed upon
her, and embraced her, and exclaimed over her together. Carley never
recalled what she said. But her heart was full.

"Oh, how perfectly stunning you look!" cried Eleanor, backing away from
Carley and gazing with glad, surprised eyes.

"Carley!" gasped Beatrice. "You wonderful golden-skinned goddess!...
You're young again, like you were in our school days."

It was before Aunt Mary's shrewd, penetrating, loving gaze that Carley
quailed.

"Yes, Carley, you look well--better than I ever saw you, but--but--"

"But I don't look happy," interrupted Carley. "I am happy to get
home--to see you all... But--my--my heart is broken!"

A little shocked silence ensued, then Carley found herself being led
across the lower level and up the wide stairway. As she mounted to the
vast-domed cathedral-like chamber of the station a strange sensation
pierced her with a pang. Not the old thrill of leaving New York or
returning! Nor was it the welcome sight of the hurrying, well-dressed
throng of travelers and commuters, nor the stately beauty of the
station. Carley shut her eyes, and then she knew. The dim light of vast
space above, the looming gray walls, shadowy with tracery of figures,
the lofty dome like the blue sky, brought back to her the walls of Oak
Creek Canyon and