'And that won't be till after the holidays. No, some break there must
be. When he is gone, Mary can put her into the way of doing things;
she is anxious to do right; and we shall see them do very well. But
this poor boy--you know he has been always living at home, while the
others were away; he was very fond of his mother, and the first coming
out of his room was more than he could bear. I must have him taken
from home till he is well again, and able to turn to other things.'

And before Ethel's eyes came a vision of poor Mrs. Ward leaning on her
son's arm, on Saturday afternoon walks, each looking fond and proud of
the other. She felt her own hardness of heart, and warmed to the
desire of giving comfort.

Bankside was basking in summer sunshine, with small patches of shade
round its young shrubs and trees, and a baking heat on the little porch.

The maid believed Miss Ward was in the garden. Mr. Leonard had been
taken out to-day; and the Doctor moving on, they found themselves in
the cool pretty drawing-room, rather overcrowded with furniture and
decoration, fresh and tasteful, but too much of it, and a contrast to
the Mays' mixture of the shabby and the curious, in the room that was
so decidedly for use, and not for show.

What arrested the attention was, however, the very sweetest singing
Ethel had ever heard. The song was low and sad, but so intensely
sweet, that Dr. May held up his hand to silence all sound, and stood
with restrained breath and moistened eyes. Ethel, far less sensitive
to music, was nevertheless touched as she had never before been by
sound; and the more, as she looked through the window and saw in the
shade of a walnut-tree, a sofa, at the foot of which sat Averil Ward in
her deep mourning, her back to the window, so that only her young
figure and the braids of her fair hair were to be seen; and beyond,
something prostrate, covered with wrappers. The sweet notes ended, Dr.
May drew a deep sigh, wiped his spectacles, and went on; Ethel hung
back, not to startle the invalid by the sight of a stranger; but as
Averil rose, she saw him raising himself, with a brightening smile on
his pale face, to hold out his hand to the Doctor. In another minute
Averil had come to her, shaken hands, and seated herself where she
could best command a view of her brother.

'I am glad to see him out of doors,' said Ethel.

'Henry was bent on it; but I think the air and the glare of everything
is too mu