ew days. This statement, continually repeated, like lawyers'
notices of sales postponed from date to date, had lasted all summer, and
still lasted. He had written to Anne as usual, until Miss Vanhorn,
although without naming him, had tartly forbidden "so many letters."
Then Anne asked him to write less frequently, and he obeyed. She,
however, continued to write herself as before, describing her life at
Caryl's, while he answered (as often as he was allowed), telling of his
plans, and complaining that they were to be separated so long. But he
was going to the far West, and there he should soon win a home for her.
He counted the days till that happy time.

And then Anne would sit and dream of the island: she saw the old house,
Rast, and the children, Miss Lois's thin, energetic face, the blue
Straits, the white fort, and the little inclosure on the heights where
were the two graves. She closed her eyes and heard their voices; she
told them all she hoped. Only this one more winter, and then she could
see them again, send them help, and perhaps have one of the children
with her. And then, the year after--But here Miss Vanhorn's voice
calling her name broke the vision, and with a sigh she returned to
Caryl's again.

Helen's letters had ceased; but Anne jotted down a faithful record of
the events of the days for her inspection when she came. Rumors varied
at Caryl's respecting Mrs. Lorrington. Now her grandfather had died, and
left her everything; and now he had miraculously recovered, and deeded
his fortune to charitable institutions. Now he had existed without
nourishment for weeks, and now he had the appetite of ten, and exhibited
the capabilities of a second Methuselah. But in the mean time Helen was
still absent. Under these circumstances, Anne, if she had been older,
and desirous, might have collected voluminous expressions of opinion as
to the qualities, beauty, and history, past and present, of the absent
one from her dearest friends on earth. But the dearest friends on earth
had not the habit of talking to this young girl as a companion and
equal; to them she was simply that "sweet child," that "dear fresh-faced
school-girl," to whom they confided only amiable platitudes. So Anne
continued to hold fast undisturbed her belief in her beautiful
Helen--that strong, grateful, reverent feeling which a young girl often
cherishes for an older woman who is kind to her.

One still, hazy morning Miss Vanhorn announced her pro