ave come to like
it."

"Were you exiles?" asked Esther, with eager interest. "Oh, how
interesting!"

Mademoiselle Leperier's heart warmed towards her sympathetic visitor with
the eager face, and soon they were deep in talk, so deep that they were
surprised when Anne knocked at the door to say he had come to know if the
young m'amzelle was ready to be conducted home.

Under the spell of her hostess's kind face and voice Esther had told some
of her story too--told more, really, than she could have believed possible
considering that she had not spoken of the events of that afternoon, nor
to what led to her appearance at Edless, as the spot was called where
Mademoiselle lived.

"May I come to see you again?" she asked impulsively, as she put up her
face to kiss the gentle, fragile-looking French lady.

"Will you, dear? I shall be so pleased if your cousin will permit you.
It is a little desolate here, and _triste_ at times, for I cannot read or
write much, or use my needle; my eyes are not strong."

"Those bright, shining eyes not strong!" thought Esther with surprise.
"Could I read to you sometimes, or write for you, or sew?" she asked
eagerly. "I am sure Cousin Charlotte would be pleased for me to, and--and
I should _love_ to. May I?"

"If _la cousine_ does not object, dear child, I should be grateful indeed;
but, remember, she does not know me, or anything of me, and you must not
be angry if she does not permit you. It would be but natural."

"Oh, I am sure she will," said Esther confidently, and out she stepped
into the darkness with Anne.

To the end of her life Esther will never forget that walk across the moor
under the cold blue of the darkening sky--the long, mysterious-looking
Stretches of darkness with here and there a big rock standing up grim and
gaunt in the silence, the vastness in which they seemed but specks, the
shrill, sweet voices of the birds calling to each other, and the busy,
persistent voice of the river, added to the weirdness and loneliness of
the experience. The only lifelike sounds were their own footsteps, and it
was only here and there, when they got on to rough ground and off the
turf, that these could be heard.

Esther grew oppressed by the awe and silence. She longed for her
companion to speak. She would have said something herself, only she did
not know what to begin about, and it needed courage to break, with her
small voice, that vast silence.

At last though, a rab