became grave while Stella was speaking.

"My dear," she said kindly, "I know well how you love retirement, and
how differently you think and feel from other young women of your age.
And I am far from forgetting what sad circumstances have encouraged the
natural bent of your disposition. But, since you have been staying with
me this time, I see something in you which my intimate knowledge of your
character fails to explain. We have been friends since we were together
at school--and, in those old days, we never had any secrets from each
other. You are feeling some anxiety, or brooding over some sorrow, of
which I know nothing. I don't ask for your confidence; I only tell you
what I have noticed--and I say with all my heart, Stella, I am sorry for
you."

She rose, and, with intuitive delicacy, changed the subject. "I am going
out earlier than usual this morning," she resumed. "Is there anything
I can do for you?" She laid her hand tenderly on Stella's shoulder,
waiting for the reply. Stella lifted the hand and kissed it with
passionate fondness.

"Don't think me ungrateful," she said; "I am only ashamed." Her head
sank on her bosom; she burst into tears.

Lady Loring waited by her in silence. She well knew the girl's
self-contained nature, always shrinking, except in moments of violent
emotion, from the outward betrayal of its trials and its sufferings to
others. The true depth of feeling which is marked by this inbred modesty
is most frequently found in men. The few women who possess it are
without the communicative consolations of the feminine heart. They are
the noblest---and but too often the unhappiest of their sex.

"Will you wait a little before you go out?" Stella asked softly.

Lady Loring returned to the chair that she had left--hesitated for a
moment--and then drew it nearer to Stella. "Shall I sit by you?" she
said.

"Close by me. You spoke of our school days just now Adelaide. There was
some difference between us. Of all the girls I was the youngest--and you
were the eldest, or nearly the eldest, I think?"

"Quite the eldest, my dear. There is a difference of ten years between
us. But why do you go back to that?"

"It's only a recollection. My father was alive then. I was at first
home-sick and frightened in the strange place, among the big girls. You
used to let me hide my face on your shoulder, and tell me stories. May I
hide in the old way and tell _my_ story?"

She was now the calmest of the tw