r remember. It is doubtful, indeed, if she made
any in words, for after trying once or twice to speak she gave up the
attempt and cried out of pure joy.

But apparently Mrs. Murray was quite satisfied with this answer, for her
kind old face, which had worn an anxious look while waiting for Eleanor's
reply, took on a most contented expression.

"But your dear little home," Eleanor said presently when her tears were
dry, and being such happy ones they had dried very quickly. "How will you
like to leave that?"

"I am tired of my dear little home," said Mrs. Murray briskly. "I want to
travel. Besides, the doctor has told me that in any case I mustn't spend
another winter here until I get my rheumatism out of my system. And so,
my dear, we will be off as soon as you like."

* * * * *

Eleanor and Margaret only met once before the former started for Italy
with Mrs. Murray. Madame Martelli had recommended a course of study at
Milan, and armed with many introductions to musical people of note, they
were to leave almost immediately for that town.

Margaret had motored up to Rose Cottage with her aunt to say good-bye, and
the two girls had gone out into the garden together. By common consent
their steps led them towards the little summer-house where they had held
so many stolen interviews.

"Strictly speaking," said Eleanor, "neither of us deserve to be as
happy as we are. At least," she added, "I know I don't. We behaved
disgracefully--at least I know I did. And yet, in the end, we have got
everything we wanted."

"Would you do it again?" Margaret asked.

Eleanor shook her head most emphatically. "No," she said, "if I live to
be ninety I shall never forget that long night. I would not go through it
again on any account whatever--at least, I mean, you know that I would
not again risk anything happening to you through me."

"Not even for the sake of your voice?" said Margaret rather wonderingly.

"No," said Eleanor firmly, "not even for the sake of my voice. If you had
been killed that night I should never, never have forgiven myself. I feel
now that it would have served me perfectly right if you had tumbled over
the cliff and been killed. It would have been only what I deserved, for
then I should have been obliged to suffer from a life-long remorse."

"Oh!" said Margaret rather doubtfully. Then she laughed. "Don't you
think," she asked, "that it would have been rather hard on me if you