But Mrs. Hulburt did not know the Sally who wept all that night into her pillow, and who, in the early morning, knelt by the window to watch the sun rise.
It was a slow-rising sun, but at last there was a rift of gold through the gray, and another day had dawned for Sally, another day in which she had to know herself bound to a man for whom she cared nothing.
She stood up and cast a wild look around the room. From the top of the chiffonier the doll, Sarah, stared at her.
"Oh, you needn't look so smug," Sally blazed. "It's the way of the world. Why shouldn't I?"
The doll Sarah, voicelessly, "Have you looked into your heart?"
"I haven't any heart," Sally flung back at her, and threw herself face downward on the bed.
After a while she got up, dressed, and had a long ride alone. She came in to breakfast with her cheeks glowing.
"Am I the first?" she asked Sampson.
"Yes, Miss Sally. I done took Mistuh Louis' breakfus up to 'im."
As she sat down, Meriweather came in. He was pale from pain and a sleepless night. A wave of tenderness surged over Sally.
"Little boy, little boy," she said, "come and eat your breakfast."
He dropped into a chair. "I don't want any."
"But you do—I'm going to fix it for you, and you've got to eat it."
She unfolded his napkin, ordered orange juice for him, buttered his toast, broke his egg into its cup
