temptations, whatever they may he, I
shall never have any pride in him again; and oh, Polly, I have been so
proud of him, my brilliant, handsome, charming brother!"

"Poor Edgar! I can't believe it is anything that will last. He is so
bright and lovable; every one thought he would take the highest honors.
Why, Margery, he is, or was, the most ambitious boy I ever knew, and
surely, surely he cannot have changed altogether! Surely he will come
to himself when he knows he may have to leave college unless he does
his best. I 'm so sorry, dear old Peggy! It seems heartless that my
brighter times should begin just when you are in trouble. Perhaps
mamma and I can do something for Edgar; we will try, you may lie sure.
Good-by, dearest; I shall see you again very soon."

Ten days later, Polly stood on the deck of the Orizaba just at dusk,
looking back on lovely Santa Barbara as it lay in the lap of the
foothills freshened by the first rains. The dull, red-tiled roofs of
the old Spanish adobes gleamed through the green of the pepper-trees,
the tips of the tall, straggling blue-gums stood out sharply against
the sky, and the twin towers of the old Mission rose in dazzling
whiteness above a wilderness of verdure. The friendly faces on the
wharf first merged themselves into a blurred mass of moving atoms, then
sank into nothingness.

Polly glanced into her stateroom. Mrs. Oliver was a good sailor, and
was lying snug and warm under her blankets. So Polly took a camp-chair
just outside the door, wrapped herself in her fur cape, crowded her
tam-o'-shanter tightly on, and sat there alone as the sunset glow paled
in the western sky and darkness fell upon the face of the deep.

The mesa faded from sight; and then the lighthouse, where she had
passed so many happy hours in her childhood. The bright disk of flame
shone clear and steady across the quiet ocean, seeming to say, _Let
your light so shine! Let your light so shine! Good luck, Polly! Keep
your own lamp filled and trimmed, like a wise little virgin!_ And her
heart answered, "Good-by, dear light! I am leaving my little-girl days
on the shore with you, and I am out on the open sea of life. I shall
know that you are shining, though I cannot see you. Good-by! Shine
on, dear light! I am going to seek my fortune!"

CHAPTER V.

TOLD IN LETTERS.

_Extracts from Polly Oliver's Correspondence._

SAN FRANCISCO, November 1, 188--.

DEAR MARGERY,--I