gorous old face beside her,
Eugenie held out her delicate hand. With a quick, impulsive movement,
wondering at herself, Miss Anna grasped it.

A little while later Miss Anna emerged from the parlour. She went
upstairs to find Carrie.

Carrie was sitting beside the open door of her room, calmly ripping
up a mattress. The bed behind her had been substantially lengthened,
apparently by the help of a packing-case in which Mrs. Fenwick had
brought some of her possessions across the Atlantic. A piece of white
dimity had been tacked round the packing-case.

'Carrie, what on earth are you doing?' cried Miss Anna, in dismay.

'It's all right,' said Carrie--'I'm only making it over. It's got
lumpy.' Then she laid down her scissors, flushed, and looked at Miss
Anna. 'Who's that downstairs?'

'It's a lady who wants to see your mother. Will you go and fetch her?'

'Father's "messenger"?' cried Carrie, springing up, and breathing
quick.

Miss Anna nodded.

'Your mother should be very grateful to her,' she said, in rather a
shaky voice.

Carrie put on her hat in silence, and descended. The door of the
parlour was open, and between it and the parlour window stood the
strange lady, staring at the river and the fell opposite, apparently
deep in thought.

At the sound of the girl's step Eugenie turned.

'Carrie!' she cried, involuntarily--'you are Carrie!' And she came
forward, impetuously holding out both her hands. 'How like the
picture--how like!'

And Eugenie gazed in delight at the small, slight creature, so
actively and healthily built, in spite of her fairy proportions, at
the likeness to Fenwick in hair and skin, at the apple-freshness of
her colour, the beauty of her eyes, the lightness of her pretty feet.

Twelve years!--and then to find _this_, dropped into your arms by the
gods--this living, breathing promise of all delight! Deep in Eugenie's
heart there stirred the pang of her own pitiful motherhood, of the
child who had just flickered into life, and out of it, through one
summer's day.

She shyly put her arm round the girl.

'May I,' she said, timidly--'may I kiss you?'

Carrie, with down-dropped eyes, a little grave, submitted.

'I am going to tell my mother. Father sent you, didn't he?'

Eugenie said 'Yes' gently, and released her. The child ran off.

Phoebe came slowly into the room, with an uncertain gait, touching the
door and the walls like one groping her way.

'Oh, Mrs. Fenwick!'

It was