neys, she had a good clear view of the
sky. Some pigeons occupied a little house outside one of the
neighbouring windows, and there was a roof covered with red tiles on
which they loved to strut and plume their feathers in the sunshine.

To a woman country-born the sight of pigeons and red tiles called up
visions of an old home. The memories which came to Elsie in her London
room were as fresh and sweet as the breath of early spring flowers.

She could see again the red manor-house among the Sussex hills, and the
old green garden which winter could never quite despoil. The cherry-tree
spread its boughs close to her window, and seemed to fill the room with
the delicate dewy light of its blossoms; the winds came blowing in,
sweet and chill, from thymy common and "sheep-trimmed down."

Perhaps she had never seen her home so plainly with her bodily eyes as
she saw it now in imagination. Our everyday blessings are too common to
be looked at in their true light; but when time and change have put them
far away from us we see them in all their beauty.

"It makes me feel desperate," she said half aloud to herself.

She had a dark, delicate face, as changeful as an April sky. It was not
a happy face; the dark eyes were restless, the soft lips often quivered.
And yet, in spite of sorrow and unrest, and the experiences of nearly
nine-and-twenty years, there was an extraordinary freshness, almost
girlishness, in her appearance, which did not suffer even from the close
proximity of younger women. The mourning dress, fitting closely to her
graceful figure, told its own story of recent loss.

In that old manor-house among the Sussex hills her bright youth had been
calmly spent. Then came her mother's death, and changes began in the
home-life. Her father was growing weak in mind and body. Elsie was the
only daughter, and the household cares and anxieties pressed heavily on
her heart and brain. When Robert, her brother, suggested, with all
possible kindliness, that it would be well if he came with his wife to
the Manor and shared her labours, she welcomed the proposal gladly.

So Robert and Bertha arrived, bringing with them their little girl and
her governess; and the old peace fled away for ever.

For two miserable years Elsie lived on in that altered home, and saw
everything that she had loved sliding gradually out of her hold. Robert
introduced many new plans, all for his father's comfort, as he
continually declared. Bertha to