Alida was more than content with the conditions of her life. She saw that
Holcroft was not only satisfied, but also pleased with her, and that was all
she had expected and indeed all that thus far she had wished or hoped. She
had many sad hours; wounds like hers cannot heal readily in a true, sensitive
woman's heart. While she gained in cheerfulness and confidence, the terrible
and unexpected disaster which had overtaken her rendered impossible the
serenity of those with whom all has gone well. Dread of something, she knew
not what, haunted her painfully, and memory at times seemed malignantly
perverse in recalling one whom she prayed to forget.

Next to her faith and Holcroft's kindness her work was her best solace, and
she thanked God for the strength to keep busy.

On the first Sunday morning after their marriage the farmer overslept, and
breakfast had been ready some time when he came down. He looked with a little
dismay at the clock over the kitchen mantel and asked, "Aren't you going to
scold a little?"

She shook her head, nor did she look the chiding which often might as well be
spoken.

"How long have I kept breakfast waiting, or you rather?"

"What difference does it make? You needed the rest. The breakfast may not be
so nice," was her smiling answer.

"No matter. You are nice to let a man off in that way." Observing the book
in her lap, he continued, "So you were reading the old family Bible to learn
lessons of patience and forbearance?"