nals had kept a lynx-like watch upon her and Everett Southard.
Afterward Grace confided to Anne that she believed Miriam did like Mr.
Southard a little, and it was quite plain to be seen that Mr. Southard
cared for her, while Jessica and Nora were wagging their heads in secret
agreement of the same belief.

Only one thing marred Grace's pleasure in being at home and that was the
thought that she was making Tom Gray unhappy. Outwardly he was the same
sunny, smiling Tom she had known for so many years, but there were times
when the mask of cheerfulness fell away and Grace read in his eyes a
look of pain and longing that caused her to reproach herself. Then her
honest nature would reassert itself and she would vow never to promise
to marry Tom out of sympathy. Unless there came a time when she was
absolutely convinced that he meant more to her than her work she and Tom
would have to go on in the same old way.

But aside from this one cloud it seemed to Grace that she had never
before so fully appreciated her father and mother. "You grow dearer
every minute," she assured them on her last night at home. She sat
between them on a little stool, holding a hand of each. "If you don't
put me out on the steps to-morrow morning with my luggage, and lock the
door in my face, I know I'll never, never have the courage to go away
from you. It is really a tragedy, this wanting to be in two places at
once."

"Dear child," said her mother softly, while her father stroked her
shining hair and wondered how he ever managed to get along without her
during the long months she spent at Overton. "We hate to give you up,
Gracie," he said, "but we love you all the more for your faithfulness to
your work."

And that was the thought which Grace took back with her to Overton. She
smiled to herself as she swung briskly through the quiet streets. Their
approbation had quickened her spirit to put forth fresh effort. She felt
as though she could remove mountains if they happened to rise suddenly
in her path. And in this state of mental exhilaration she ran up the
steps of Harlowe House and, after a second's fumbling with her latchkey,
let herself in.

It was almost six o'clock in the afternoon, and the darkness of early
January had settled down upon the landscape. A wet, discouraging snow,
which made the streets a slush-covered menace to pedestrians, was
falling, and Grace gave a soft sigh of satisfaction as she stepped into
the cheery, well-lighte