e probabilities,
began at last to picture her grandaunt as a sort of human kaleidoscope,
falling into new and more fantastic combinations at a moment's notice.

They had allowed two weeks for the letter to reach the island, always
supposing that Miss Vanhorn was not on a camel, paralyzed, obstinate,
mad, married, or dead. But on the tenth day the letter came. Anne took
it with a hand that trembled. Dr. Gaston was present, and Miss Lois, but
neither of them comprehended her feelings. She felt that she was now to
be confronted by an assent which would strain her heart-strings almost
to snapping, yet be ultimately for the best, or by a refusal which would
fill her poor heart with joy, although at the same time pressing down
upon her shoulders a heavy, almost hopeless, weight of care. The two
could not enter into her feelings, because in the depths of their hearts
they both resented her willingness to leave them. They never said this
to each other, they never said it to themselves; yet they both felt it
with the unconscious selfishness of those who are growing old,
especially when their world is narrowed down to one or two loving young
hearts. They did not realize that it was as hard for her to go as it was
for them to let her go; they did not realize what a supreme effort of
courage it required to make this young girl go out alone into the wide
world, and face its vastness and its strangeness; they did not realize
how she loved them, and how every tree, every rock of the island, also,
was dear to her strongly loving, concentrated heart.

After her father's death Anne had been for a time passive, swept away by
grief as a dead leaf on the wind. But cold necessity came and stood by
her bedside silently and stonily, and looked at her until, recalling her
promise, she rose, choked back her sorrow, and returned to common life
and duty with an aching but resolute heart. In the effort she made to
speak at all it was no wonder that she spoke quietly, almost coldly;
having, after sleepless nights of sorrow, nerved herself to bear the
great change in her lot, should it come to her, could she trust herself
to say that she was sorry to go? Sorry!--when her whole heart was one
pain!

The letter was as follows:

* * * * *

"GRANDNIECE ANNE,--I did not know that you were in existence. I have
read your letter, and have now to say the following. Your mother
willfully disobeyed me, and died. I, meanwhile,