Once inside the stately old house, her depression became even more apparent. Haven Home was 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 be done. Now if I were you I'd hold up my right hand and swear not to come here again until I stepped over the threshold with Tom Gray. Every time, after we pay our respects to Haven Home, you go away from it with the expression in your eyes of an early Christian martyr going to the stake. Not that you ever complain. If you went around weeping and wailing and gnashing your teeth, I'd be better satisfied. But you don't. Your face simply takes on a hurt, despairing look that makes me sick at heart."
"I know it isn't good for me to come here," was Grace's frank admission. "Each time I say, 'This must be the last,' and yet somehow I can't stay away. My whole heart is bound up in Haven Home. It's the most wonderful and at the same time the saddest place in the world to me. And this picture! It fascinates me. When Tom and I chose it, we didn't dream that Fate was hurrying to overtake us."
"I'd turn it toward the wall," counseled Elfreda gruffly. "It's beautiful, but it gives me the creeps. It upsets you more than anything else in this house. Every time you come here, I've noticed you go straight to it. I can see that it's a Jonah. Do you give me leave to do the reversing act?" Elfreda grinned boyishly, yet her round blue eyes were purposeful. It would have given her infinite pleasure to summarily bundle the offending painting into Upton Wood, leaving it to the mercy of the elements.
"You may turn it toward the wall if you like." Grace sighed as she tore her gaze from the painting. "It's rather heavy, though, and you will have a hard time reaching up to it."
"Oh, that's nothing. There's a step ladder on the back porch. I noticed it the last time we were over here." Elfreda hurried from the room to wrest the ladder from its lowly haunt. Returning she set it in place before the painting and climbed the four steps to the top with joyful alacrity.
Grace followed the movements of her energetic companion with moody interest. She was glad yet sorry to watch the change Elfreda was about to make.