big eyes opened wide. "Is anything wrong, Arabella?" she
whispered.

"I--I don't know. No; but somethin' awful's happened, or goin' to
happen--I don't know which."

Without another word the girl opened the door leading to the hall. She
looked in at the sitting-room door as she passed.

"Mother, Arabella's coming upstairs with me for a few minutes," she
called. "We'll be down soon."

She said no more until they were in the privacy of her own bedroom.
She placed the trembling visitor in a chair by the window, where
occasional bursts of sunlight came through the soft muslin curtains.
Then she drew up another chair and sat close beside her.

"Arabella," she said, "you've heard from him?"

Miss Arabella hung her head like a schoolgirl caught in a naughty
prank. "Yes," she whispered guiltily.

Elsie flung her arms about the little wet figure. "Oh, Arabella, dear,
I'm so glad! I'm so glad! Now aren't you glad I wouldn't let you give
me the dress? Is he coming home?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Next summer--in June."

"Oh! And is he well? Where does he live? And why didn't--oh, tell me
all about it!"

The sympathetic joy was bringing the tears to Miss Arabella's eyes
again. "Oh, Elsie, you're so awful good! I--would you--would it look
kind o' foolish if I was to let you read his letter?"

"Not a bit, if you don't mind, you know. I'd really love to see it,"
she confessed honestly.

Miss Arabella threw back her shawl and carefully unrolled the blue
silk. She took the letter from its folds and then hesitated. "Mebby,"
she began breathlessly, "I--perhaps I'd better read it to you,
Elsie--because there's parts, you know, that might sound--foolish."
She looked at the girl apologetically.

"Of course, Arabella, I understand." Elsie pushed the letter back into
her hand. "After all, no third person ought to see a love-letter, you
know."

Much assured, and still blushing and stammering, Miss Arabella read
aloud a few of the more practical details of the letter. She passed
tremulously over the tender passages, and she also omitted the part
about Martin's receiving help from a friend. Somehow, her jealous
pride in him forbade that another should know he had not succeeded
unaided.

"Poor little Arabella," whispered the girl when it was finished. "And
it's coming true at last. And what a nice name he's
got--Martin--what's the rest of it?"

"Martin Heaslip," whispered Arabella, as though afraid to utter