now in complete order, even to the little
personal touches which greatly enhanced the beauty of the tasteful
furnishings. The color schemes for the various rooms had been decided
upon by Tom and Grace during those first happy hours of possession. How
energetically they had entered into even the smallest details, and how
enthusiastically they had engrossed themselves with the joyful labor of
planning the arrangement of the furniture and the countless
appointments. Both had agreed that everything in the house should
signify comfort rather than elegance, in order that, when the last
triumphant touch had been given to it, Haven Home should be a home
indeed.

To carry on bravely the work which she and Tom had begun had been an
excruciating torture to Grace, made endurable only by the thought that
at least she was fulfilling Tom's wishes. She was ever urged on to her
sorrowful task by the one consolation that when the blessed day of Tom's
return dawned, and she believed that it must, he would find that she had
been loyal to his interests. She had not sat down to mourn, her hands
idle. She had faithfully labored to make their dream of home come true.
Though the winter of sorrow held her in its icy grip, the Golden Summer
of love still bloomed fresh and fragrant in her heart.

"I don't think you ought to come here so much, Grace." Elfreda's
matter-of-fact tones roused Grace from the somber reverie which had
obsessed her as she stood in the center of the living-room, her absent
gaze on a painting which Tom had especially fancied. It represented a
young man in the dress of a cavalier and a beautiful girl in a simple
high-waisted gown of white, strolling through a field of starry daisies.
On both faces was the rapt expression of complete absorption that
betokened the knowledge of their great love for each other. Looming up,
a trifle in their rear, a gigantic black-robed figure, with a terrifying
face, was hurrying, with great strides, across the blossoming meadow to
overtake the absorbed pair. One had only to glance at the painting to
realize that in simply naming it "Fate" the artist had rightly suited
the legend to his conception.

"Why not?" asked Grace, her attention still on the painting.

"Because it's not good for you," protested Elfreda sturdily. "It isn't
as though the house needed your attention. It's in perfect order and the
prettiest, most comfortable place I ever set foot in. You've done
everything here that can b