oking into her dear face
once more had passed, his skilled eyes probed the deeper. He noted with
a sinking at the heart the dark circles under the drooping lids, the
drawn, pallid skin and telltale furrows that had cut their way deep
into her cheeks. Her eyes, too, had lost their lustre, and her step
lacked the spring and vigor of her old self. The diagnosis alarmed him.
Even the mould of her face, so distinguished, and to him so beautiful,
had undergone a change; whether through illness, or because of some
mental anguish, he could not decide.

When he pressed his inquiries about Lucy she answered with a
half-stifled sigh that Lucy had decided to remain abroad for a year
longer; adding that it had been a great relief to her, and that at
first she had thought of remaining with her, but that their affairs, as
he knew, had become so involved at home that she feared their means of
living might be jeopardized if she did not return at once. The child,
however, would be a comfort to both Martha and herself until Lucy came.
Then she added in a constrained voice:

"Its mother would not, or could not care for it, and so I brought it
with me."

Once at home and the little waif safely tucked away in the crib that
had sheltered Lucy in the old days, the neighbors began to flock in;
Uncle Ephraim among the first.

"My, but I'm glad you're back!" he burst out. "Martha's been lonelier
than a cat in a garret, and down at our house we ain't much better. And
so that Bunch of Roses is going to stay over there, is she, and set
those Frenchies crazy?"

Pastor Dellenbaugh took both of Jane's hands into his own and looking
into her face, said:

"Ah, but we've missed you! There has been no standard, my dear Miss
Jane, since you've been gone. I have felt it, and so has everyone in
the church. It is good to have you once more with us."

Mrs. Cavendish could hardly conceal her satisfaction, although she was
careful what she said to her son. Her hope was that the care of the
child would so absorb Jane that John would regain his freedom and be no
longer subservient to Miss Cobden's whims.

"And so Lucy is to stay in Paris?" she said, with one of her sweetest
smiles. "She is so charming and innocent, that sweet sister of yours,
my dear Miss Jane, and so sympathetic. I quite lost my heart to her.
And to study music, too? A most noble accomplishment, my dear. My
grandmother, who was an Erskine, you know, played divinely on the harp,
and many