h to give her the income I
wished her to have for her own private use. Of course I would not touch
that for our joint expenses. But until a year ago we did still live
together--by various means. Then this sister of my father's set her
heart upon taking Pet with her to Europe--and I set mine almost as
much; I could better bear to live alone, than to have her; and her life
then amounted to that. And so between us both she consented--very
unwillingly; and she went to Italy, and I studied as long as I had ways
and means, and then came here to get more. So you see, dear child," Mr.
Linden said with a smile, "it is not my fortune I have asked you to
share, but my fortunes."

She gave him a smile, as bright and free as the glancing of a star;
then her look went away again. And it was a good little while before
perhaps she dared speak--perhaps before she wanted to speak. So very
steady and still her look and herself were, it said that they covered
thoughts too tender or too deep to be put into words. And the
thoughtfulness rather deepened as minutes rolled on--and a good many of
them rolled on, and still Faith did not speak. Mr. Linden's watch
ticked its remarks unhindered. Words came at last.

"Endecott--you said something about 'means' for study. How much means
does it want?--and how much study?" The interest at work in the
question was deeper than Faith meant to shew, or knew she shewed.

He told her the various expenses, ordinary and contingent, in few
words, and was silent a moment. But then drawing her close to him, with
that same sort of sheltering gesture she had noticed before, he went on
to answer her other question; the voice and manner giving her a perfect
key to all the grave looks she had mused over.

"Do you remember, dear Faith, that I once called you 'a brave little
child'?"

"Yes."

"You must be that now," he said gently,--"you and I must both be brave,
and cheerful, and full of trust. Because, precious child, I have two
years' work before me--and the work cannot be done here."

She looked in his face once, and was silent;--what her silence covered
could only be guessed. But it lasted a little while.

"It must be done at that place where you were with your sister?"

"Yes, little Mignonette, it must be done there."

"And when must you begin the work, Endecott?" If the words cost her
some effort, it only just appeared.

"I came for a year, dear Faith--and I ought not to stay much beyond
that."

F