Then she closed the door with much dignity.
Through the open window came a gentle rustle of the wind among the live-oaks. Hertha stood in the middle of the room, her head drooping, the shadows dark under her tired eyes. She felt utterly alone. The old world was lost to her and she had closed the door upon the new.
Going to the window she looked beyond the oaks and down the road, and in the warm afternoon light saw the man she loved slowly walking away. Moving across the room she put her hand upon the knob of the door; but after a moment's hesitation she turned back, a determined look on her face.
"Reckon I won't trouble him again," she echoed.
CHAPTER XII
In the dim twilight of a November morning, before the sun was up, a young lady stood outside the Williams' cabin. She wore a dark blue traveling suit and a small hat set stylishly on her curling brown hair. In her right hand was a little leather hand-bag and in her left a neatly rolled silk umbrella. Above her well-cut pumps were silk stockings. She looked surprisingly out of place, and seeming to realize it herself, she hastily lifted the latch and went into the house.
The table was set with three places; from the kitchen the steaming coffee-pot sent forth a delicious fragrance, while the scent of frying bacon mingled with the almost imperceptible odor of hot rolls. A big bunch of red roses lay by one of the places that was also graced by a cup decorated with pink and white flowers.
"Is that you, Hertha?" came a voice from the kitchen.
"Yes, Sister," was the answer.