She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. He just walked in a few minutes ago. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. Little more’n a week. She had thought of the lawyer who conducted the Remenham business, but she knew not where to find him.
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