Wilford’s face was white as ashes, and his voice trembled as he replied:  “Yes, mother, I shall tell her all; but, oh! you do not know how hard it has been for me to bring my mind to that, or how sorry I am that we ever kept that secret—­when Genevra died—­”

“Hush-h!” came warningly from the mother as Juno reappeared, the warning indicating that Genevra, whoever she might be, was a personage never mentioned, except by mother and son.

As Juno remained the conversation was not resumed, and the next morning Wilford wrote to Katy Lennox the letter which carried to her so much of joy, and to Dr. Grant so much of grief.  To wait four weeks, as Katy said he must, was a terrible trial to Wilford, who counted every moment which kept him from her side.  It was all owing to Dr. Grant and that perpendicular Helen, he knew, for Katy in her letter had admitted that the waiting was wholly their suggestion; and Wilford’s thoughts concerning them were anything but complimentary, until a new idea was suggested, which drove every other consideration from his mind.

Wilford was naturally jealous, but that fault had once led him into so deep a trouble that he had struggled hard to overcome it, and now, at its first approach, after he thought it dead, he tried to shake it off—­tried not to believe that Morris cared especially for Katy.  But the mere possibility was unendurable, and in a most feverish state of excitement he started again for Silverton.

As before, Morris was waiting for him at the station, his cordial greeting and friendly manner disarming him from all anxiety in that quarter, and making him resolve anew to trample the demon jealousy under his feet, where it could never rise again.  Katy’s life should not be darkened by the green monster, he thought, and her future would have been bright indeed had it proved all that he pictured it as he drove along with Morris in the direction of the farmhouse, for he was to stop there first and then at night go over to sleep at Linwood.

Katy was waiting for him, and as he met her alone, he did not hesitate to kiss her more than once as he kept her for a moment in his arms, and then held her off to see if her illness had left any traces upon her.  It had not, except it were in the increased delicacy of her complexion and the short hair now growing out in silky rings.  She was very pretty in her short hair, but Wilford felt a little impatient as he saw how childish it made her look, and thought how long it would take for it to attain its former length.  He was already appropriating her to himself, and devising ways of improving her.  In New York, with Morris Grant standing before his jealous gaze, he could see no fault in Katy, and even now, with her beside him, and the ogre jealousy gone, he saw no fault in her; it was only her dress, and that could be so easily remedied.  Otherwise she was perfect, and in his delight at meeting her again he forgot to criticise the farmhouse and its occupants, as he had done before.