er' said Emma, breaking off, then beginning, 'O Violet, it is the
wish of my heart to bring Sundays back to it.'

'Emma! but could it be built up again?'

'Mamma says nothing must be done till I am twenty-five--almost six years
hence. Not then, unless I am tame and sober, and have weighed it well.'

'Restore it?--build a church?'

'I could have a sort of alms-house, with old people and children, and we
could look after them ourselves.'

'That would be delightful. Oh, I hope you will do it.'

'Don't think of it more than as a dream to myself and mamma. I could not
help saying it to you just then; but it is down too deep generally even
for mamma. It must come back somehow to God's service. Don't talk of it
any more, Violet, dearest, only pray that I may not be unworthy.'

Violet could hardly believe a maiden with such hopes and purposes
could be her friend, any more than Prioress Osyth herself; and when,
half-an-hour afterwards, she heard Emma talking over the parish and
Sunday-school news in an ordinary matter-of-fact way, she did not seem
like the same person.

There were many vows of correspondence, and auguries of meeting next
spring. Lady Elizabeth thought it right that her daughter should see
something of London life, and the hope of meeting Violet was the one
thing that consoled Emma, and Violet talked of the delight of making her
friend and Annette known to each other.

To this, as Lady Elizabeth observed, Arthur said not a word. She could
not help lecturing him a little on the care of his wife, and he listened
with a very good grace, much pleased at their being so fond of her.

She wished them good-bye very joyously, extremely happy at having her
husband again, and full of pleasant anticipations of her new home.

PART II

There's pansies for you, that's for thoughts.

--Hamlet

CHAPTER 1

How far less am I blest than they,
Daily to pine, and waste with care,
Like the poor plant, that from its stem
Divided, feels the chilling air.
--MICKLE'S Cumnor Hall

Arthur and Violet arrived at their new home in the twilight, when
the drawing-room fire burnt brightly, giving a look of comfort. The
furniture was good; and by the fire stood a delightful little low chair
with a high back, and a pretty little rosewood work-table, on which
was a coloured glass inkstand, and a table-stand of books in choice
bindings.

'Arthur, Arthur, ho