--exaggerated and
impulsive as girls' talk is apt to be--came honestly, in each case,
straight from the heart.

"Blanche! you may be married in India. Make your husband bring you back
to England."

"Anne! you may take a dislike to the stage. Come out to India if you
do."

"In England or out of England, married or not married, we will meet,
darling--if it's years hence--with all the old love between us; friends
who help each other, sisters who trust each other, for life! Vow it,
Blanche!"

"I vow it, Anne!"

"With all your heart and soul?"

"With all my heart and soul!"

The sails were spread to the wind, and the ship began to move in the
water. It was necessary to appeal to the captain's authority before the
girls could be parted. The captain interfered gently and firmly. "Come,
my dear," he said, putting his arm round Anne; "you won't mind _me!_
I have got a daughter of my own." Anne's head fell on the sailor's
shoulder. He put her, with his own hands, into the shore-boat alongside.
In five minutes more the ship had gathered way; the boat was at the
landing-stage--and the girls had seen the last of each other for many a
long year to come.

This was in the summer of eighteen hundred and thirty-one.

II.

Twenty-four years later--in the summer of eighteen hundred and
fifty-five--there was a villa at Hampstead to be let, furnished.

The house was still occupied by the persons who desired to let it. On
the evening on which this scene opens a lady and two gentlemen were
seated at the dinner-table. The lady had reached the mature age of
forty-two. She was still a rarely beautiful woman. Her husband, some
years younger than herself, faced her at the table, sitting silent and
constrained, and never, even by accident, looking at his wife. The third
person was a guest. The husband's name was Vanborough. The guest's name
was Kendrew.

It was the end of the dinner. The fruit and the wine were on the table.
Mr. Vanborough pushed the bottles in silence to Mr. Kendrew. The lady of
the house looked round at the servant who was waiting, and said, "Tell
the children to come in."

The door opened, and a girl twelve years old entered, lending by the
hand a younger girl of five. They were both prettily dressed in white,
with sashes of the same shade of light blue. But there was no family
resemblance between them. The elder girl was frail and delicate, with a
pale, sensitive face. The younger was light and florid, with ro