seem such a lot
of trouble. All the good things here seem--seem remedies!"

The older woman laughed nervously. Three weeks--three weeks and no word!

"You will be making epigrams, my dear, if you don't take care," she
said lightly. "But you're going to finish just the same? The girls like
you, your work is good; you ought to stay."

The girl flashed a look of surprise at her. It was her only hint of
sympathy.

"You advise me to?" she asked quietly.

"I think it would be a pity to disappoint your mother," with a light
hand on her shoulder. "You are so young--four years is very, little. Of
course you could do the work in half the time, but you admit that you
are not an ardent student. If nobody came here but the girls that really
needed to, we shouldn't have the reputation that we have. The girls to
whom this place means the last word in learning and the last grace of
social life are estimable young women, but not so pleasant to meet as
you."

Three weeks--but he had waited seven years!

"I am very childish," said the girl. "Of course I will stay. And some
of it I like very much. It's only that mamma doesn't understand. She
overestimates it so. Somehow, the more complete it is, the more like
everything else, the more you have to find fault with on all sides. I'd
rather have come when mamma was a girl."

"I see. I have thought that, too."

Ah, fool, give up your senseless hope! You had your chance--you lost it.
Fate cannot stop and wait while you grow wise.

"When that shadow covers the hill, I will give it up forever. Then I
will write to Henry's wife and ask her to let me come and help take care
of the children. She will like it, and I can get tutoring if I want
it. I will make the children love me, and there will be a place where I
shall be wanted and can help," she thought.

The shadow slipped lower. The fresh turf steeped in the last rays, the
birds sang, the warming earth seemed to have touched the very core of
spring. Her hopes had answered the eager years, but her miracle was too
wonderful to be.

A light knock at the door, and a maid came toward her, tray in hand. She
lifted the card carelessly--her heart dropped a moment and beat in
hard, slow throbs. Her eyes filled with tears; her cheeks were hot and
brilliant.

"I will be there in a moment." How deep her voice sounded!

The girl slipped by her.

"I was going anyway," she said softly. "Good-by! Don't touch your
hair--it's just right."

Sh