not know her, but he talks
of Katy, who he says is dead and buried across the sea. Will you come to
him, Katy? Your presence may save his life. Telegraph when you leave New
York, and I will meet you at the depot."

It is not strange that this letter, followed so soon by the telegram
from Marian, should crush one as delicate as Katy, or that for a few
minutes she should have been stunned with the shock, so as neither to
feel nor think. But the reaction came soon enough, bringing with it only
the remembrance of Wilford's love. All the wrong, the harshness, was
forgotten, and only the desire remained to fly at once to Wilford,
talking of her in his delirium. Bravely she kept up until New York was
reached, but once where Helen was, the tension of her nerves gave way,
and she fainted, so we have seen.

At Father Cameron's that night there were troubled, anxious faces, for
they, too, had heard of Wilford's danger. But the mother could not go to
him. A lung difficulty, to which she was subject, had confined her to
the house for many days, and so it was the father and Bell who made
their hasty preparations for the hurried journey to Georgetown. They
heard of Katy's arrival and Bell came at once to see her.

"She will not be able to join us to-morrow," was the report Bell carried
home, for she saw more than mere exhaustion from fatigue and fainting in
the white face lying so motionless on Helen's pillow, with the dark
rings about the eyes, and the quiver of the muscles about the mouth.

The morrow found that Bell was right, for Katy could not rise, but lay
like some crushed flower still on Helen's bed, moaning softly:

"It is very hard, but God knows best."

"Yes, darling, God knows best," Helen answered, smoothing the bright
hair, and thinking sadly of the young officer sitting by his camp-fire,
and waiting so eagerly for the bride who could not go to him now. "God
knows what is best, and does all for the best."

Katy said it many times that long, long week, during which she stayed an
invalid in Helen's room, living from day to day upon the letters sent by
Bell, who had gone on to Georgetown with her father, and who gave but
little hope that Wilford would recover. Not a word did she say of
Marian, and only twice did she mention Morris, so that when at last Katy
was strong enough to venture on the journey, she had but little idea of
what had transpired in Wilford's sickroom.

* * * * *

T