of relations in which Matilda stood
and to which he was a stranger. Norton liked nothing that seemed like
division between them; but he did not find anything just then to say,
and remained silent; while Matilda rode along in a kind of glorious
vision that was half heavenly and half earthly. That was this snowy
morning to her. Covered up warm in the furs of the sleigh, she leaned
back and used her eyes; rejoicing in the white brilliance of the earth
and the sunny blue of the heaven, and finding strange food for joy in
them; or what appears strange to those who do not know it. The sleigh
rushed along, past houses and shops and the familiar signs hung out
along the street; then reaching the corner, whirled round to the left.
Matilda's home, until now, had always lain the other way. She turned
her head and looked back, up the street.

"What is it?" Norton asked.

"Nothing--except that I am so glad not to be going that way."

"No," said Norton. "Not that way any more. We have got you, Pink."

"I don't understand it," said Matilda. "It makes me dizzy when I think
of it."

"Here we are!" cried Norton, as the horses wheeled in through the iron
gate. "It's all snow, Pink; it will be too late to plant our tulips and
hyacinths."

But even that was forgotten, as the sleigh stopped, and Norton helped
Matilda out from under the furs, and she realized that she had come
home. Home; yes, when her feet stepped upon the marble pavement of the
hall she said to herself that this was _home_. It was very strange. But
Mrs. Laval's warm arms were not strange; they were easy to understand;
she would hardly let Matilda out of them, and kissed her and kissed
her. The kisses were instead of words; _they_ said that Matilda had
come home.

"Run up now, dear, to your room," she said at last, "and get your wraps
off. I have somebody here to see me on business; but I will come to you
by and by."

Dismissed with more kisses, Matilda went up the stairs like one in a
dream. Sharp and snowy as the world was without, here, inside the hall
door, it was an atmosphere of summer. Soft warm air was around her as
she mounted the stairs; in Mrs. Laval's room a wood fire was burning;
in her own, oh joy! there was a little coal fire in the grate; all
bright and blazing. Matilda slowly drew off her things and looked
around her. The pretty green furniture with the rosebuds painted on it,
this was her own now; a warm carpet covered the mat; the bed with its
l