"Well," said Miss Lucretia, "as I said, I am very fond of the girl, and I
am willing to do my duty, whatever it may be. And I also wished to say,
Mrs. Merrill, that I have thought about another matter very carefully. I
am willing to provide for the girl. I am getting too old to live alone. I
am getting too old, indeed, to do my work properly, as I used to do it. I
should like to have her to live with me."

"She has become as one of my own daughters," said Mrs. Merrill. Yet she
knew that this offer of Miss Lucretia's was not one to be lightly set
aside, and that it might eventually be the best solution of the problem.
After some further earnest discussion it was agreed between them that the
matter was, if possible, to be kept from Cynthia for the present, and
when Miss Lucretia departed Mrs. Merrill promised her an early return of
her call.

Mrs. Merrill had another talk with her husband, which lasted far into the
night. This talk was about Cynthia alone, and the sorrow which threatened
her. These good people knew that it would be no light thing to break the
faith of such as she, and they made her troubles their own.

Cynthia little guessed as she exchanged raillery with Mr. Merrill the
next morning that he had risen fifteen minutes earlier than usual to
search his newspaper through. He would read no more at breakfast, so he
declared in answer to his daughters' comments; it was a bad habit which
did not agree with his digestion. It was something new for Mr. Merrill to
have trouble with his digestion.

There was another and scarcely less serious phase of the situation which
Mr. and Mrs. Merrill had yet to discuss between them--a phase of which
Miss Lucretia Penniman knew nothing.

The day before Miss Sadler's school was to reopen nearly a week before
the Harvard term was to commence--a raging, wet snowstorm came charging
in from the Atlantic. Snow had no terrors for a Coniston person, and
Cynthia had been for her walk. Returning about five o'clock, she was
surprised to have the door opened for her by Susan herself.

"What a picture you are in those furs!" she cried, with an intention
which for the moment was lost upon Cynthia. "I thought you would never
come. You must have walked to Dedham this time. Who do you think is here?
Mr. Worthington."

"Mr. Worthington!"

"I have been trying to entertain him, but I am afraid I have been a very
poor substitute. However, I have persuaded him to stay for supper."

"It ne