she was kneeling before them, with her arms resting on the low dressingtable.as she gazed at them intently, a tear splashed down on her black dress.o, it isnt right! it isnt right, she sobbed, passionately, for god to take everything! it would have been so easy for him to let me keep them.how could he be so cruel? how could he take away all that made my life worth living, and then let little jack suffer so? she laid her head on her arms in a paroxysm of sobbing.presently she looked up again at her mothers picture.it was a beautiful face, very like her own.it brought back all her happy childhood, that seemed almost glorified now by the remembered halo of its devoted motherlove.the years had softened that grief, but it all came back tonight with its oldtime bitterness.the next face was little jacksa sturdy, wideawake boy, with mischievous dimples and laughing eyes.but the recollection of all he had suffered since his accident, made her feel that she had lost him also, in a way.the physician had assured her that he would be the same vigorous, romping child again; but she found that hard to believe when she thought of his present helpless condition.she pressed the next picture to her lips with trembling fingers, and then looked lovingly into the eyes that seemed to answer her gaze with one of steadfast, manly devotion.o, it isnt right! it isnt right! she sobbed again.how it all came back to herthe happy junetime of her engagement!the summer days when she dreamed of him, the summer twilights when he came.every detail was burned into her aching memory, from the first bunch of violets he brought her, to the judges tender smile when she spread out all her bridal array for him to see.such shimmering lengths of the white, trailing satin; such filmy clouds of the soft, white veil, destined never to touch her fair hair! for there was the telegram, and afterward the darkened room, and the darker hour, when she groped her way to a motionless form, and knelt beside it alone.o, how she had clung to the cold hands, and kissed the unresponsive lips, and turned away in an agony of despair! but as she turned, her fathers strong arms were folded about her, and his broken voice whispered comfort.the dear father! it had been doubly desolate since he had gone, too.kneeling there, with her head bowed on her arms, she seemed to face a future that was utterly hopeless.except that jack needed her, she felt that there was absolutely no reason why she should go on living.the ticking of her watch reminded her that it was nearly midnight.in a mechanical way, she got up and began to arrange her hair for the night.after she had extinguished the light, she pulled aside the curtain, and looked out on the unfamiliar streets.the moon had come up.in the dim light the crest of old lookout towered grimly above the horizon.a verse of one of the psalms passed through her mind: i will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.no, she whispered, bitterly, there is no help.god doesnt care.he is too far away.as she went back to the bed, the words of the novice in mulochs benedetta minelli came to her: o weary world, o heavy life, farewell! like a tired child that creeps into the dark to sob itself asleep where none will mark, so creep i to my silent convent cell.i wish i could do that, she thought; lock myself away with my memories, and not be obliged to keep up this empty pretense of living, just as if nothing were changed.it might not be so hard.how i dread tomorrow, with its crowds of strange faces! o, why did i ever come? next morning, the guests gathered out on the vinecovered piazza to discuss their plans for the day.there were two theological students from boston, a young doctor from texas, and the son of a wealthy louisiana planter.a kansas farmers wife and her sister, a bright little schoolteacher from an iowa village, and three pretty georgia girls, completed the party.bethany sat a little apart from them, wondering how they could be so greatly interested in such things as the most direct carline to missionary ridge, or the time it would take to do the old battlegrounds.the youngest georgia girl was about her own age.she had made several attempts to include bethany in the conversation, but mistaking her reserve and indifference for haughtiness, turned to the louisiana boy with a remark about unsociable northerners.their frequent laughter reached bethany, and she wondered, in a dull way, how anybody could be lighthearted enough even to smile in such a world full of heartaches.then she remembered that she had laughed herself, the day before, when mr.cragmore was with them.it rather puzzled her now to know how she could have done so.her wakeful night had left her unusually depressed.an open, twoseated carriage stopped at the gate.mrs.marion and george cragmore were on the back seat.mr.marion and dr.bascom sat with the driver.bethany had been waiting for them some time with her hat on, so she went quickly out to meet them