Edith went on to say that her brother had seen the New York detective, who was still hopelessly in the dark, but struggling on in the belief that chance would open the way for him.
Rosalie, strive as she would to prevent it, grew pale and the roundness left her cheek as the weeks went by.

Her every thought was with the man who had gone to the Southland.

She loved him as she loved life, but she could not confess to him then or thereafter unless Providence made clear the purity of her birth to her and to all the world.

When finally there came to her a long, friendly, even dignified letter from the far South, the roses began to struggle back to her cheeks and the warmth to her heart.

Her response brought a prompt answer from him, and the roses grew faster than the spring itself.