Half an hour later, Wander, sitting in his study at the end of the upper hall, saw his guest hastening toward Honora’s room.  She wore a plain brown house dress and looked uniformed and ready for service.  She did not speak to him, but hastened down the corridor and let herself into that solemn chamber where Honora Fulham lay with wide-staring eyes gazing mountain ward.  That Honora was in some cold, still, and appalling place it took Kate but a moment to apprehend.  She could hardly keep from springing to her as if to snatch her from impending doom, but she forced all panic from her manner.

“Kate’s come,” she said, leaning down and kissing those chilly lips with a passion of pity and reassurance.  “She’s come to stay, sister Honora, and to drive everything bad away from you.  Give her a kiss if you are glad.”

Did she feel an answering salute?  She could not be sure.  She moved aside and watched.  Those fixed, vision-seeing eyes were upon the snow-capped peaks purpling in the decline of the day.

“What is it you see, sister?” she asked.  “Is there something out there that troubles you?”

Honora lifted a tragic hand and pointed to those darkening snows.

“See how the bergs keep floating!” she whispered.  “They float slowly, but they are on their way.  By and by they will meet the ship.  Then everything will be crushed or frozen.  I try to make them stay still, but they won’t do it, and I’m so tired—­oh, I’m so terribly tired, Kate.”

Kate’s heart leaped.  She had, at any rate, recognized her.

“They really are still, Honora,” she cried.  “Truly they are.  I am looking at them, and I can see that they are still.  They are not bergs at all, but only your good mountains, and by and by all of that ice and snow will melt and flowers will be growing there.”

She pulled down the high-rolled shades at the windows with a decisive gesture.

“But I must have them up,” cried Honora, beginning to sob.  “I have to keep watching them.”

“It’s time to have in the lamps,” declared Kate; and went to the door to ask for them.

“And tea, too, please, Mrs. Hays,” she called; “quite hot.”

“We’ve been keeping her very still,” warned Wander, rejoicing in Kate’s cheerful voice, yet dreading the effect of it on his cousin.

“It’s been too still where her soul has been dwelling,” Kate replied in a whisper.  “Can’t you see she’s on those bitter seas watching for the ice to crush David’s ship?  It’s not yet madness, only a profound dream—­a recurring hallucination.  We must break it up—­oh, we must!”

She carried in the lamps when they came, placing them where their glow would not trouble those burning eyes; and when Mrs. Hays brought the tea and toast, whispering, “She’ll take nothing,” Kate lifted her friend in her determined arms, and, having made her comfortable, placed the tray before her.

“For old sake’s sake, Honora,” she said.  “Come, let us play we are girls again, back at Foster, drinking our tea!”