nd
Heaven knows how much it cost me. My father was rather surprised the
next day when I went to his study and asked him if I could begin my
lessons at once. He laughed.

"What an energetic scholar," he cried. "Why do you wish to begin so
soon, Laura?"

"Because I have so very much to learn," I replied.

"You shall begin this day, Laura," he said; "but Miss Reinhart must see
mamma first, and arrange the best hours for study. There are two or
three little arrangements I should like changing--for instance, now that
mamma is never present, I cannot see why you and Miss Reinhart should
not take breakfast with me. I am very lonely, and should be delighted if
we could manage that. But I must speak to mamma. Then I should like you
to go on dining with me, as you have done since mamma's illness. It
makes me quite ill to enter that great, desolate dining room. Do you
remember how mamma's sweet face used to shine there, Laura?"

Did I? Did I ever enter the room without?

"Make your mind easy, Laura; you shall begin your lessons to-day, and we
will see what mamma wishes to be done."

That day an arrangement was made: Miss Reinhart and I were to breakfast
and dine with papa; the morning, until two was to be devoted to my
studies, and the rest of the day, if mamma desired her presence, Miss
Reinhart was to spend with her. We were to walk together, and I was, as
usual, to go out with mamma when her chair was wheeled into the grounds.

"Heaven send that it may last!" said Emma, when she heard of it.

I wonder if any angel repeated the prayer?

CHAPTER VII.

To me it seemed that I was as old at fifteen as many a girl of eighteen;
I had lived so much with grown-up people; I had received all my
impressions from them. I was very quick and appreciative. I read
character well, and seemed to have a weird, uncanny insight into the
thoughts and ideas of people--into their motives and plans. I had too
much of this faculty, for I was often made uncomfortable because shadows
came between me and others, and because I seemed to feel and understand
things that I could never put into words.

Here is one little instance of what I mean: I stood one afternoon at the
window of my mother's room. The sun was shining brightly on the bloom of
countless flowers and the feathery spray of the fountains; the whole
place looked so bright and beautiful that it was a perfect picture. I
saw Miss Reinhart on the terrace; she was leaning over the s