py at Heathercliffe House she'll simply
make herself ill with fretting, and the cure will be worse than the
disease."

"I'm sure she will not do so. She will be so interested in her work
and her new companions that, after the first few days of homesickness
are over, she will settle down and like her fresh life immensely."

"You really think so?" said Mrs. Lindsay. "Well, the decision is made
and I suppose we must keep to it now; but I'm dreading the moment when
I shall have to break the news to her."

To Sylvia the announcement came as a great shock. She was totally
unprepared for it, and the idea of such a sudden change was anything
but a welcome one. When she fully understood that in one short week
she was to be banished to a strange place, among people whom she had
never seen, she clung to her mother in such a passion of tears that
if it had not been for the thought of what Aunt Louisa would say, Mrs.
Lindsay would have yielded and have begged her husband to keep the
child at home after all. As it was, she did her best to soothe her,
and to paint the future in as bright colours as her fancy could
depict.

"I'll never be happy again, never!" sobbed Sylvia. "I shall be as
miserable as Evelyn in _The Little Heiress_ or Rosalie in _The Orphan
Cousin_. They both broke their hearts until the last chapter, and so
shall I."

"Nonsense, darling, you must try to be brave! Heathercliffe House is a
most charming school, and I'm sure you will be happy. You'll find ever
so many nice little girls of about your own age who will be ready to
make friends with you, and there will be plenty of fun going on as
well as lessons. I want you to make some more friends."

"I have Effie and May."

"They're too young for you. You would get on better with girls rather
older than yourself, I believe. It will be quite a new thing for you
to be one of a class. I'm sure you will like Miss Kaye."

"If she's like the mistress in _Sara Crewe_ I shall hate her,"
declared Sylvia.

"But she's not. She's very kind and not at all prim. She takes the
girls the most delightful country walks, and sometimes they go down to
the beach. You're so fond of the seaside, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Sylvia doubtfully, "when it's holidays, and you and
Father are there. I shall have to pretend I'm an outlaw or a hostage,
like Richard in _The Little Duke_, and that my subjects are busy
fighting to keep my kingdom while I'm away."

"Imagine anything you wish, d