th received a letter from one
of the clerks at the Osierfield, informing her that Mr. Thornley
returned from his tour in Germany a week ago; and that immediately on
his return he was seized with a severe attack of pneumonia--the result
of a neglected cold--and was now lying seriously ill at his house in
Sedgehill. In order to complete the purchase of a piece of land for the
enlargement of the works, which Mr. Thornley had arranged to buy before
he went away, it was necessary (the clerk went on to say) to see the
plans of the Osierfield; and these were locked up in the private safe at
the manager's house, to which only Christopher and Elisabeth possessed
keys. Therefore, as the manager was delirious and quite incapable of
attending to business of any kind, the clerk begged Miss Farringdon to
come down at once and take the plans out of the safe; as the
negotiations could not be completed until this was done.

For an instant the old instinct of tenderness toward any one who was
weak or suffering welled up in Elisabeth's soul, and she longed to go to
her old playmate and help and comfort him; but then came the remembrance
of how once before, long ago, she had been ready to help and comfort
Christopher, and he had wanted neither her help nor her comfort; so she
hardened her heart against him, and proudly said to herself that if
Christopher could do without her she could do without Christopher.

That summer's day was one which Elisabeth could never forget as long as
she lived; it stood out from the rest of her life, and would so stand
out forever. We all know such days as this--days which place a gulf,
that can never be passed over, between their before and after. She
travelled down to Sedgehill by a morning train; and her heart was heavy
within her as she saw how beautiful the country looked in the summer
sunshine, and realized that the home she loved was to be taken away from
her and given to another. Somehow life had not brought her all that she
had expected from it, and yet she did not see wherein she herself had
been to blame. She had neither loved nor hoarded her money, but had used
it for the good of others to the best of her knowledge; yet it was to be
taken from her. She had not hidden her talent in a napkin, but had
cultivated it to the height of her powers; yet her fame was cold and
dreary to her, and her greatness turned to ashes in her hands. She had
been ready to give love in full measure and running over to any