for whom she seriously cared.
In a delicate and ladylike fashion she had flirted outrageously in her
time; but she had always broken hearts so gently, and put away the
pieces so daintily, that the owners of these hearts had never dreamed of
resenting the damage she had wrought. She had refused them with such a
world of pathos in her beautiful eyes--the Farringdon gray-blue eyes,
with thick black brows and long black lashes--that the poor souls had
never doubted her sympathy and comprehension; nor had they the slightest
idea that she was totally ignorant of the depth of the love which she
had inspired, or the bitterness of the pain which she had caused.

All the romance of Elisabeth's nature--and there was a great deal of
it--was lavished upon Anne Farringdon. If Anne smiled, Elisabeth's sky
was cloudless; if Anne sighed, Elisabeth's sky grew gray. The mere sound
of Anne's voice vibrated through the child's whole being; and every
little trifle connected with her cousin became a sacred relic in
Elisabeth's eyes.

Like every Methodist child, Elisabeth was well versed in her Bible; but,
unlike most Methodist children, she regarded it more as a poetical than
an ethical work. When she was only twelve, the sixty-eighth Psalm
thrilled her as with the sound of a trumpet; and she was completely
carried away by the glorious imagery of the Book of Isaiah, even when
she did not in the least understand its meaning. But her favourite book
was the Book of Ruth; for was not Ruth's devotion to Naomi the exact
counterpart of hers to Cousin Anne? And she used to make up long stories
in her own mind about how Cousin Anne should, by some means, lose all
her friends and all her money, and be driven out of Sedgehill and away
from the Osierfield Works; and then how Elisabeth would say, "Entreat me
not to leave thee," and would follow Cousin Anne to the ends of the
earth.

People sometimes smile at the adoration of a young girl for a woman, and
there is no doubt but that the feeling savours slightly of school-days
and bread-and-butter; but there is also no doubt that a girl who has
once felt it has learned what real love is, and that is no small item in
the lesson-book of life.

But Elisabeth had her comfortable friendship as well as her romantic
attachment; and the partner in that friendship was Christopher Thornley,
the nephew of Richard Smallwood.

In the days of his youth, when his father was still manager of the
Osierfield Works, Ric