lf afraid to look at her letters in the morning, lest
the dread summons should be amongst them; but, after a time, her courage
began to revive, and she dared--yes, she actually dared--to hope for a
brighter future. But, when the term of his imprisonment began, she knew
that she must wait patiently for its end before the cloud of darkness
was lifted from her life.

"It's about time we was getting back to the States, I reckon," her
father said to her one day.

"So soon, father?"

"What should we stay in England for?" he asked, without glancing at her.
"I want to get back to my work; and I want to show you the place, and
see about the new house."

For at times he drew glowing pictures of the house that he intended to
build for Cynthia some day. Cynthia used to smile and listen very
sweetly. She never contradicted him; she only grew a little abstracted
now and then when he waxed very eloquent, and drew the needle a little
faster through the work that she now affected. He did not usually seem
to notice her silence; but on this occasion he broke out rather
petulantly.

"One would think you took no interest in it at all! You might sometimes
remember that it's all for you."

"I do remember it, father dear--and I am very grateful."

"Well, then," said Westwood, at once restored to cheerfulness, "just you
look here at these plans. I've been talking to an architect, and this is
the drawing he's made for me. Nice mansion that, isn't it? You see,
there's the ground-floor--a study for me, and a drawing-room and a
morning-room, and all sorts of things for you; and here's a wing which
can be added on or not, as is required. Because," he went on rather
quickly and nervously, "if you was to marry out there, you could set up
house-keeping with him, you know; and, when the family grew too large
for the house, we could just add room after room--here, you see--until
we had enough."

"Yes, father." And then Cynthia added with simplicity, which was perhaps
a little assumed. "Miss Enid Vane says that Hubert will be ordered to
the Riviera for the winter when--when he is free."

"What has that to do with it?" said Westwood, rolling up his plans and
moving a few steps away from her.

"Only that perhaps we had better not think too much about the house,
father. We might not be able to come to it."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" her father said slowly. "You're still thinking
of Mr. Lepel, Cynthia?"

"Yes, father dear."

"You mean to marry