our husband, isn't it, or is it your brother?"

"No, it's not--yes. It--it's not my brother," the girl said in a
low voice.

"No," Luella repeated soothingly, "no, I see. That's a fine cat,
ain't it? I've read of 'em--Angora, ain't it?--but I never saw one.
They say they're mostly deaf. Is that one?"

"Yes. No--I don't know. I don't believe she is," the girl murmured,
brokenly. She seemed newly distressed; her lips, very red against
her white cheeks, quivered, her full breast strained against her
white linen blouse.

Luella strode lightly about the disorderly little kitchen; she had
forgotten the very presence of the girl, it seemed, for as she
gathered the soiled dishes, coaxed the fire, filled the kettle and
hastily removed the traces of the ill-fated huckleberry bread, she
hummed a tune and appeared to see only her work.

Caroline was on her knees before the Angora and knew nothing of the
flight of time, though it was really hardly more than a quarter of
an hour before the kitchen rivalled Luella's in neatness and the
pine table in the living-room, covered with a fresh cloth, and shiny
plated silver, only waited its host.

"Now if you'll step out and call your husband, Miss--I didn't just
get the name?" said Luella invitingly.

The girl rose from the chair where she had been sitting, motionless,
except for her eyes, which had followed every movement of the older
woman. She stood very straight and threw her head back with a
gesture almost defiant.

"My name is Dorothy Hartley," she declared, and ran abruptly out of
the cottage.

"Well, well," Luella shook her head whimsically, "she's pretty well
wrought up, isn't she? Sweet little thing, too--real loveable, I
sh'd say. It don't seem possible he'd be mean to her. But o' course
he wants his breakfast fit to eat, just the same. I put a place for
you, Car'line, 'cause I know you c'n eat, no matter what time
'tis--you're 's empty's a bag. There he comes--my, but he's
haughty! He looks like somebody in one o' those novels, don't he,
now?"

They came slowly up the path, hand in hand, like children, her gray
eyes on the ground, his black ones challenging the world. The clear
mountain air carried his words easily to the two in the door:

"Now, dearest, be brave! Remember, we are right, and we know we are
right."

She clutched his hand nervously, but made no reply.

"Come right in," Luella urged them hospitably, "you must be 'most
starved."

"Oh, no," he as