eived pride,
intellect, and will; from her mother passion, imagination, and the
fateful melancholy of a woman defrauded of her dearest hope. These
conflicting temperaments, with all their aspirations, attributes, and
inconsistencies, were woven into a nature fair and faulty; ambitious,
yet not self-reliant; sensitive, yet not keen-sighted. These two
masters ruled soul and body, warring against each other, making Sylvia
an enigma to herself and her life a train of moods.

A wise and tender mother would have divined her nameless needs, answered
her vague desires, and through the medium of the most omnipotent
affection given to humanity, have made her what she might have been. But
Sylvia had never known mother-love, for her life came through death; and
the only legacy bequeathed her was a slight hold upon existence, a
ceaseless craving for affection, and the shadow of a tragedy that wrung
from the pale lips, that grew cold against her baby cheek, the cry,
"Free at last, thank God for that!"

Prudence could not fill the empty place, though the good-hearted
housewife did her best. Neither sister understood the other, and each
tormented the other through her very love. Prue unconsciously
exasperated Sylvia, Sylvia unconsciously shocked Prue, and they hitched
along together each trying to do well and each taking diametrically
opposite measures to effect her purpose. Mark briefly but truly
described them when he said, "Sylvia trims the house with flowers, but
Prudence dogs her with a dust-pan."

Mr. Yule was now a studious, melancholy man, who, having said one fatal
"No" to himself, made it the satisfaction of his life to say a never
varying "Yes" to his children. But though he left no wish of theirs
ungratified, he seemed to have forfeited his power to draw and hold them
to himself. He was more like an unobtrusive guest than a master in his
house. His children loved, but never clung to him, because unseen, yet
impassible, rose the barrier of an instinctive protest against the
wrong done their dead mother, unconscious on their part but terribly
significant to him.

Mark had been years away; and though the brother and sister were
tenderly attached, sex, tastes, and pursuits kept them too far apart,
and Sylvia was solitary even in this social seeming home. Dissatisfied
with herself, she endeavored to make her life what it should be with the
energy of an ardent, aspiring nature; and through all experiences, sweet
or bitter, a