Olive's; just think of it, girls,
how grand! and Cousin Roger is immensely wealthy, and there would be no
end of splendid things;" and Bea sighed a little, as she spoke, for she
was not going to win any wealth or grand home by her wedding, and there
came, just now, a little moment of regret, that such would never be
hers. Then she looked at her ring, and felt wicked and ungrateful. Would
she exchange with Olive, or any other girl who might win wealth? No, no,
never!

"Well, dear suz, what a funny place the world is," said Kat. "Here I've
just hated that Roger Congreve, and now I could bless him forever, for
being so good and kind, and after all, perhaps he'll be my brother, and
Congreve Hall come back to us. I don't like it though," she added, with
energy, "we're all getting broken up some way; it don't seem like old
times, and I don't want any of us to get married! It's horrid, and I
never will. Now Ernestine is home, I'd rather be poor all the days of my
life, and have us all stay together, and never get old, or big."

"Very good, but 'buds will be roses, and kittens, cats,' as Jo says,"
answered Bea, going off with a laugh.

Ernestine was still too weak to see or say much this day. She had been
much better on leaving Virginia, and as the trip home was taken in the
most luxurious way afforded to travellers, she might have stood it very
well, had it not been for the nervous excitement that completely
prostrated her before home was reached. So Dr. Barnett prescribed the
most perfect quiet, which was given, the girls only going in on tiptoe,
now and then, to carry some little dainty, or smile their loving
welcome, while Mrs. Dering spent all of her time at the bed side.
Ernestine seemed perfectly content, for she lay for hours, with
dreamy eyes fixed on Mrs. Dering's face, and never spoke or moved,
as though she had been beaten and bruised by her brief struggle with
the world, and only wanted to lie at peace, with one dear face in
constant sight; and to let her tired life drift in or out. The change
was heart-breaking, and drove the girls from her room at every visit, to
hide their tears, and think, as in a dream, of the time when Ernestine,
gay, frivolous, careless-hearted girl, was the sunshine of the house,
the one being who seemed to never feel or know the touch of care or
sadness.

Roger was to go back the second day, and on the evening before, he said:

"The scenery about this little place is perfectly beautif