e her a momentary pleasure, but she was in
a mood that nothing could please her long. When she strolled into the
drawing-room, everything was in spotless order, and so quiet that the
stillness was oppressive. Even the fire burned with a steady, noiseless
glow, without the usual crackle, and the ashes fell on the hearth with
velvety softness.

Some of her new books lay on a side table. She picked them up and
glanced through them, catching at a paragraph here and there. But one
after another she laid them down. She was not in a mood for reading.
Then she took a candied date from the bonbon dish, but it seemed to lack
its usual flavour. After nibbling each end, she threw it into the fire.
Slipping her new opera-glass from its case, she went to the window and
turned the lens on the distant entrance gate. The road in each direction
seemed deserted. So she put the glass back in its case, and, after
strolling restlessly around the room, walked over to the harp and struck
a few chords.

"It's all out of tune!" she exclaimed, fretfully, thrumming the faulty
string with impatient fingers. "Everything seems out of tune this
mawning!"

As she spoke, the string broke with a sudden harsh twang that made her
jump. She was so startled that the tears came to her eyes, and so
nervous that she flung herself face downward on the pillows of the
long-Persian divan, and began sobbing hysterically. The strain of the
last few weeks had been too much for her. Miss Gilmer's prophecy had
come true. The ice had given away under the extra weight put upon it.

She was sobbing so hard that she did not hear the sound of carriage
wheels rolling softly up the avenue through the snow, and when the front
door banged shut she started again, and began trembling as she had done
when the harp-string broke. She was crying convulsively now, so hard
that she could not stop, although she clenched her fists and bit her
lips in a strong effort to regain self-control.

Mrs. Sherman, her face all aglow from the cold drive, and looking almost
girlishly fair in her big hat with the plumes, and her dark furs,
hurried in to the fire. The Colonel, throwing back his scarlet lined
cape, pushed aside the portiere for her to enter. He was the first to
catch sight of the shaking form on the divan.

"Why, Lloyd, child, what's the matter?" he demanded, anxiously. "What's
the matter with grandpa's little girl?"

Mrs. Sherman, with a frightened expression, hurried to her, a