freda to feed her on
waffles, I must tell Margaret to make them."

Left to themselves, the two girls conversed softly together regarding
the change the advent of old Jean had wrought in their hostess. When an
hour later the trio gathered in the morning room, unanimously chosen as
a supper room by reason of its cosiness, the sense of oppression which
had formerly held them captive had been marvelously lightened by hope.
Later the three spent a quiet evening together in the library, and it
was eleven o'clock when Grace and Elfreda turned their steps homeward.

To her father and mother, who had reached home ahead of her, Grace
recounted the details of Jean's visit. They received the glad tidings
with a joy second only to her own.

Another hour slipped swiftly by before the household retired, and it was
half-past twelve o'clock before Grace bade Elfreda good-night and softly
closed the door of her room. Alone with her own thoughts, she curled up
on a cushioned window seat and gazed meditatively out upon the still
autumn night. Through the open window a soft wind caressingly touched
her rapt face. It sighed through the trees, sending an occasional leaf
to earth with a faint protesting rustle. Overhead the stars twinkled
serenely down upon her, as though in tantalizing possession of the
answer to the question that lay behind her musing eyes.

In close communion with the night, Grace lived over again those first
rare days of her Golden Summer. The present swept aside, the past
confronted her in sharpest outline. Her mind dwelt on the evening when
the Eight Originals had strolled to the old Omnibus House and Nora had
sung the song of Golden Summer. She could almost hear Tom say, "I'd like
our lives, from this moment on, always to be one long, continued Golden
Summer." She wondered if the very utterance of the wish had broken the
spell. Then came the remembrance of those dear hours of preparation at
Haven Home. Again she could fancy herself coming down the stairs in her
wedding gown and pausing to listen as Nora sang "La Lettre."

Here her musings broke off abruptly. With the memory of "The Letter," a
sudden tender resolve took possession of her. To-morrow Jean would start
on his search. Very well, he should not go empty-handed. She would write
a letter to Tom. When Jean found him, her letter should bridge the gap
of distance between them.

Rising from the window seat she sought her desk. Seated before it, she
took up her