You'll see!' Jerrie said, impetuously, as she arose from the table and began to clear away the dishes.
The spell was upon her strongly now, and as her grandmother talked, the objects around her gradually faded away; the cottage, so out of proportion, and so humble in all its surroundings, was gone, and in its place a house, fair to look upon, fair as Tracy Park and much like it, and Harold was the master, looking a very prince, instead of the tired, shabbily dressed man he was now.
'And I shall be there, too,' Jerrie whispered, or rather nodded to herself.

'I know I shall, and I do not believe one word of the Maude affair, and never will until he tells me himself, or she; and then--well, then, I will be glad for them, until I come to be really glad myself.' She was moving rapidly around the kitchen, for there was a great deal to be done--the Saturday's work and all the clothes to be ironed, and then she meant to get up some little surprise for Harold, to show him that she appreciated his thoughtfulness for her.
About half-past ten a servant from Le Bateau brought her a note from Ann Eliza, who wrote as follows.
'Dear Jerrie:--Have pity on a poor cripple, and come as soon as you can and see her.

I sprained my ankle last night in that awful storm, and Tom had to bring me home in his arms.

Think of it, and what my feelings must have been.

I am hardly over it yet--the queer feelings I mean--for, of course, my ankle is dreadful, and so swollen, and pains me so that I cannot step, but must stay in my room all day.