There was much talk and wonder in Silverton when it was known that Katy had come home to stay until her husband returned from the war, and at first the people were inclined to gossip and hint at some mystery or possible estrangement; but this was brought to an end when the postmaster's wife told of a letter which had come to Mrs. Wilford Cameron from the Army of the Potomac, and of the answer returned within three days to Lieutenant Wilford Cameron, Co., --th Regt., N. Y. V., etc. It must be all right, the gossips said, after that, but they watched Katy curiously as she came among them again, so quiet, so subdued, so unlike the Katy of old that they would hardly have recognized her but for the beauty of her face and the sunny smile she gave to all, but which rested oftenest on the poor and suffering, who blessed her as the angel of their humble homes, praying that God would remember her for all she was to them. The gold was purified at last, the dross removed, and Katy, in her beautiful consistent life, seemed indeed like some bright angel straying among the haunts of men, rather than the weak and ofttimes sorely tempted mortal, which she knew herself to be.
Wilford's letters, though not unkind, were never very satisfactory, and always brought on a racking headache, from which she suffered intently. He had censured her at first for going back to Silverton, when he preferred she should stay in New York, hinting darkly at the reason of her choice, and saying to her once, when she told him how the Sunday before her twenty-first birthday she had knelt before the altar and taken upon herself the vows of confirmation: "Your saintly cousin is, of course, delighted, and that I suppose is sufficient, without my congratulations."
Perhaps he did not mean it, but he seemed to take delight in teasing her, and Katy sometimes felt she should be happier without his letters than with them. He had never said he was sorry he had left her so suddenly--indeed he seldom referred to the past in any way; or if he did it was in a manner which showed that he thought himself the injured party, if either. Once, indeed, he did admit that, in calmly reviewing the whole thing, he saw no reason now to believe that in the matter of Dr. Grant she had been to blame, except in going to him with her trouble and so bringing about the present unfortunate state of affairs. This was the nearest to a concession on his part of anything he made; but it did Katy a world of good, brightening up her face, and making her even dare to meet Morris alone and speak to him naturally. Ever since her return to Silverton she had studiously avoided him, and a stranger might have said they were wholly indifferent to each other; but that stranger would not have known of Morris' daily self-discipline or of the one little spot in Katy's heart kept warm and sunny by the knowing that Morris Grant had loved her, even if the love had died, as she hoped it had. It would be better for them all, and so, lest by word or deed she should keep the germ alive, she seldom addressed him directly, and never went to Linwood unless some one was with her to prevent her being left with him alone. A life like this could not be pleasant for Morris, and as there seemed to be a lack of competent physicians in the army, he, after prayerful deliberation, accepted a situation offered him as surgeon in a Georgetown hospital, and early in June left Silverton for his new field of labor.