She had heard all she cared to hear of the Camerons that day, and she was glad when Helen returned from the village, as her appearance diverted Katy’s mind into another channel, and in examining the dress trimmings which Helen had brought, she forgot to talk of Jamie Cameron.  The trimmings, fringe and buttons were for the wedding dress, the one in which Katy was to be married, and which Helen reserved the right to make to herself.  Miss Hazelton must fit it, of course, but to her belonged the privilege of making it, every stitch; Katy would think more of it if she did it all, she said; but she did not confess how the bending over that one dress, both early and late, was the escape valve for the feeling which otherwise would have found vent in passionate tears.  Helen was very wretched during the pleasant May days she usually enjoyed so much, but over which now a dark pall was spread, shutting out all the brightness and leaving only the terrible certainty that Katy was lost to her forever—­bright, frolicsome Katy, who, without a shadow on her heart sported amid the bridal finery, unmindful of the anguish tugging at the hearts of both the patient women, Marian and Helen, who worked on so silently, reserving their tears for the night time, when Katy lay sweetly sleeping and dreaming of Wilford Cameron.  Helen had ceased to think that Hiss Hazelton had any designs on Dr. Grant, for her manner toward Uncle Ephraim was just as soft and conciliating, and she dismissed that subject from her mind with the reflection that it was the nature of some girls to be very pretty to the gentlemen, without meaning any harm.  She liked Marian on the whole, regarding her as a quiet woman, who knew her business and kept to it, but never guessing that her feelings, too, were stirred to their very depths as the bridal preparations progressed.  She only knew how wretched she was herself, and how hard it was to fight her tears back as she bent over the plaided silk, weaving in with every stitch a part of the clinging love which each day grew stronger for the only sister, who would soon be gone, leaving her alone.  Only once did she break entirely down, and that was when the dress was done and Katy tried it on, admiring its effect, and having a second glass brought that she might see it behind.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she exclaimed; “and the more valuable because you made it, I shall think of you every time I wear it,” and the impulsive girl found her arms around Helen’s neck, kissing her lovingly, while Helen sank into a chair and sobbed aloud:  “Oh, Katy, darling Katy! you won’t forget me when you are rich and admired and can have all you want?  You will remember us here at home, so sad and lonely?  You don’t know how desolate it will be, knowing you are gone, never to come back again, just as you go away.”

In an instant Katy was on her knees before Helen whom she tried to comfort by telling her how she should come back, come often, too, staying a long while; and that when she had a city home of her own she should live with her for good, and they would be so happy.