as she sat at the open window of her room with a piece of delicate
embroidery in her hands. Her future had not opened out into life; the
winter had killed its buds of promise.

After all, Stephen Archdale had not gone to England. His father and
Governor Wentworth had insisted that it was much wiser to send an older
and a better business man. "Do you want to make the best of your case?"
the Colonel had asked incisively when Stephen hesitated. And the young
man had yielded, though reluctantly. It would have been so much easier
for him to be away and to be doing something. But at present he must
think only of doing the wisest thing.

Elizabeth had not seen him; he had written to her father once, and had
promised to write again as soon as he had the slightest news. He had
tried his best to be cheerful, and had sent her a message that
endeavored to be hopeful; but she saw that courtesy struggled with
despair. She knew that they need never meet; but if this thing were
true--she could not believe it--but if it were true, then happiness was
over. Life in a June day has such possibilities of happiness; and that
morning her eyes grew so misty that she took a few wrong stitches in her
work, and as footsteps drew near the room, perceived this and began to
pick them out with nervous haste. She had not finished, however, when
Mrs. Eveleigh came in. As Elizabeth had expected, her first remark was a
comment.

"What! another mistake, my dear? You know you made one only yesterday,
and you can work so beautifully when you give your mind to it. It is a
bad plan to have such a dreamy way with one. For my part, I should think
you would have had enough of doing things in dreams and never knowing
what they will end in. You would better wake up for the rest of your
life."

As Elizabeth had heard the same remark numberless times before, its
effect was not startling. In silence she went on picking out her
stitches.

"Why not say you think so, too? It would be more dutiful in you,"
continued Mrs. Eveleigh.

"You take care that I am waked up," returned Elizabeth. "You don't leave
one many illusions."

"I hope not. What is the use of illusions?"

"Yes, what?"

"Well, Elizabeth, it is not I that have disturbed them this time; you
must thank him for that."

"Him?"

"Yes, he has come. I have just been leaning over the banisters, and saw
him come in." Elizabeth did not look dreamy now. "He did not come
forward at all in the modest, cha