fied of coming triumphantly through any and
every situation. This Una is a very crestfallen, humble-minded
creature, who knows she has failed, and dreads failing again; but I want
to be good, through it all I long to be good! O dear God, who loves me,
and understands, take pity on me, and show me the way!

CHAPTER TWENTY.

_June 15th._
To-day the first roses have opened in the garden, the rose-garden at the
Moat; for we came home two months ago, and are still luxuriating in the
old haunts and the new rooms, which are as beautiful as money and
mother's beautiful taste can make them. I felt a sort of rush of
happiness as I buried my face in the cool, fragrant leaves, and, somehow
or other, a longing came over me to unearth this old diary, and write
the history of the year.

It has been a long, long winter. We spent three months in Bournemouth
for Vere's sake, taking her to London to see the specialist on our way
home. He examined her carefully, and said that spinal troubles were
slow affairs, that it was a great thing to keep up the general health,
that he was glad we had been to Bournemouth, and that no doubt the
change home would also be beneficial. Fresh air, fresh air--live as
much in the fresh open air as possible during the summer-- Then he
stopped, and Vere looked at him steadily, and said--

"You mean that I am worse?"

"My dear young lady, you must not be despondent. Hope on, hope ever!
You can do more for yourself than any doctor. These things take time.
One never knows when the turn may come," he said, reeling off the old
phrases which we all knew so well--oh, so drearily well--by this time.

Vere closed her eyes and turned her head aside with the saddest, most
pitiful little smile. She has been very good on the whole, poor dear,
during the winter--less cynical and hard in manner, though she still
refuses to speak of her illness, and shrinks with horror from anything
like pity.

The night after that doctor's visit I heard a muffled sound from her
room next door to mine, and crept in to see what was wrong. She was
sobbing to herself, great, gasping, heart-broken sobs, the sound of
which haunt me to this day, and when I put my arms round her, instead of
shaking me off, she clung to me with the energy of despair.

"What is it, darling?" I asked, and she panted out broken sentences.

"The doctor! I have been longing to see him; I