arted, and
Liverpool and Canada lay behind her. Had she wished it was too late now
to repent. She had indeed "burnt her boats".

To say that the Morwoods were surprised when Lesbia walked into their
house that evening hardly describes their petrified astonishment. They
stared at her as if they had seen a ghost. Lesbia, who had felt secure
of a warm welcome, explained the situation.

"You've run away! Run away from your brother and sister and come to
_us_!" gasped Mrs. Morwood. "But, my dear girl, _we_ can't keep you! You
must be mad to do such a thing. Have they actually sailed for Canada
without you?"

"I didn't want to go!" answered Lesbia, choking with a lump that
suddenly rose in her throat.

She had thought they would be so glad to see her, instead of which they
were looking absolutely aghast at her appearance. It was the first great
disillusionment of her life. In her bitter disappointment she sank on to
a chair and burst into a storm of hysterical sobs. She was overstrung
and tired out, and the coolness of her reception seemed like a plunge
into an icy bath.

At the sight of such a tragic little lump of misery all Mrs. Morwood's
natural kindness of heart reasserted itself. She and Marion comforted
Lesbia as best they could.

"Drink this hot tea, child, and you'll feel better. It's no use crying
your eyes out. You have some other relations in Kingfield? I thought so.
Well, we'll keep you here for to-night, but to-morrow morning I shall
send you to Mrs. Patterson. She's the proper person to take charge of
you. I suppose she'll telegraph to your brother, and ask what's to be
done. It's a most unfortunate business altogether. Cheer up! I suppose
your relations will settle things somehow for you."

Lesbia went to bed early in the Morwoods' pretty spare bedroom, hastily
got ready for her reception. She had hardly slept during the two
previous nights so she was utterly weary, too tired almost to think. Her
uppermost feeling as her head nestled on the frilled linen pillow-case
was one of intense thankfulness that she was not in cabin 59 on the
_Roumania_. Her bed was steady and the room airy. The wind was blowing a
gale outside, and she pictured the steamer tossing on the waves, with
portholes carefully closed. She wondered how the children were getting
on--the children whom she had so suddenly deserted.

"I suppose Minnie'll go and sleep with them," she thought, stifling a
voice within her that was beginning t