time
he made his appearance.

To-day she made no objections to his proposal that they should walk back
from the station, leaving a boy to drive the cart home during the
afternoon, and they struck across the fields together, disregarding damp
and mud with the callousness of true lovers of the country. The girl's
face was worn and downcast, for the Castle would seem sadder and emptier
than ever, now that the little sister had gone and that dear, helpful
Mademoiselle; and at nineteen it is hard to look forward and know for a
certainty that the shadows must deepen. There were still sadder times
ahead, and a loneliness such as she dared not even imagine; for
Esmeralda had not Bridgie's sweet faith and trust, and hers was a
stormy, rebellious nature, which made trouble harder to bear by useless
fightings against the inevitable. Bridgie found a dozen reasons for
thankfulness among all her distresses--the kindness of friends, the
ceaseless attentions of the good old doctor, her father's freedom from
pain, and the fact that he would be spared the dread of his lifetime--a
separation from the old home. Joan saw nothing but clouds and darkness,
and tortured herself with useless questionings. Why--why--why--why
should all this trouble fall upon her? Why should other girls have
father and mother and money and opportunity, and she be deprived of all?
Why should the accident have been allowed to happen when her father's
life was of such value--such inestimable value to his young family? Why
should her life be darkened just at the time when she was most able to
appreciate joy and gladness?

Hilliard watched the clouds flit over the beautiful face, and was at no
loss to understand their meaning. During the last fortnight he had more
than once been a witness to a storm of misery and rebellion, and apart
from that fact he had an instinctive understanding of the girl's moods,
which seemed all the more curious, as his own nature of happy optimism
was as great a contrast to hers as could possibly be imagined.

A smile flickered over his face as he reflected on the strangeness of
his present position. A month ago, if anyone had described to him the
O'Shaughnessy sisters, he would have declared without a moment's
hesitation that Bridgie would be his favourite--that in every way her
character would be more attractive to him than that of Esmeralda. Even
now--even now, yes!--if the question were put plainly before him, he
must still c