The little girl did not come in any golden chariot, she was not even seated in the wagon, but came afoot.  The road to the Ashdales was as rocky then as at the time when Eric of Falla and his wife had driven her to the parsonage, to have her christened, and now she and the driver tramped on either side of the wagon steadying a couple of large trunks that stood on end behind the seat, to prevent them being jolted into the ditch.  She arrived with no more pomp and state than this, and more was perhaps not called for either.

Katrina had just got the outer door open when the wagon stopped in front of the gate.  She should have gone and opened the gate, of course, but she did not do so.  She felt all at once such a sinking at the heart that she was unable to take a step.

She knew it was Glory Goldie who had come, although the person who now pushed the gate open looked like a grand lady.  On her head was a large hat trimmed with plumes and flowers and she wore a smart coat and skirt of fine cloth; but all the same it was the little girl of Ruffluck Croft!

Glory Goldie, hurrying into the yard in advance of the team, rushed up to her mother with outstretched hand.  But Katrina shut her eyes and stood still.  So many bitter thoughts arose in her at that moment!  She felt that she could never forgive the daughter for being alive and coming back so sound of wind and limb, after letting her parents wait in vain for her all these years.  She almost wished the daughter had never bothered to come home.

Katrina must have looked as if ready to drop, for Glory Goldie quickly threw her arms around her and almost carried her into the house.

“Mother dear, you mustn’t be so frightened!  Don’t you know me?”

Katrina opened her eyes and regarded the daughter scrutinizingly.  She was a sensible person, was Katrina, and of course she did not expect that one whom she had not seen in fifteen years should look exactly as she had looked when leaving home.  Nevertheless, she was horrified at what she beheld.

The person standing before her appeared much older than her years; for she was only two and thirty.  But it was not because Glory Goldie had turned gray at the temples and her forehead was covered with a mass of wrinkles that Katrina was shocked, but because she had grown ugly.  She had acquired an unnatural leaden hue and there was something heavy and gross about her mouth.  The whites of her eyes had become gray and bloodshot, and the skin under her eyes hung in sacks.

Katrina had sunk down on a chair.  She sat with her hands tightly clasped round her knees to keep them from shaking.  She was thinking of the radiant young girl of seventeen in the red dress; for thus had she lived in Katrina’s memory up to the present moment.  She wondered whether she could ever be happy over Glory Goldie’s return.

“You should have written,” she said.  “You should at least have sent us a greeting, so that we could have known you were still in the land of the living.”