hat reason was there for feeling
such shock? Had she not always been prepared for this, and been waiting
for it?

"Oh, I can't bear to have you look so frozen, Sylvia." Edna suddenly
took her friend's hand. "I do apologize sincerely for yesterday, and I
am going to tell you what no one else knows or will know for some time,
owing to the strange circumstances. The mail last evening brought my
father's consent to my marrying the man I love. I'll not tell you more
about it yet, except that he is an Englishman, and we had almost
despaired of winning over my parents. What? Not a word, Sylvia?" For
the blue eyes gazed, and the parted lips were stiffly mute. After a
minute warmth began to flow back into the younger girl's face. The hand
Edna held began to return its pressure.

"I am happy for you," said Sylvia, and the two smiled into each other's
eyes.

"Happy enough to forgive me on trust?" asked Edna.

"Yes," answered the other slowly; but the question her heart and pride
were asking must be expressed.

"Does--does Mr. Dunham know what idea it was that made you reproach me
yesterday?"

"John?" Edna laughed. "Oh, dear, no."

"Well,"--Sylvia gave a long-drawn sigh,--"I will not press you, though
of course I'm curious."

"You're very good; and now I'll come to the other discovery which kept
me awake. We found your sketches last evening."

Edna paused.

"Yes, I forgot them." Sylvia's companion noted the light that came into
her eyes. "I suppose they are only daubs to you, but I was so happy
doing them!"

"And we were happy looking at them. I can't think that with all that
talent you are not hoping to study."

"Of course I hope; but against hope, for who would take enough
interest"--

"Your uncle. I. Every friend you have."

Sylvia's lips parted eagerly. "Did Uncle Calvin really feel it was
worth while?"

"Indeed he did. You can't remain at this blessed little farm all next
winter, hibernating. How should you like to come to Boston and study?"

"Oh, it is my ideal!" Sylvia clasped her hands.

"It is going to _be_, my dear. Judge Trent has promised."

The young artist caught her lip in her teeth and drew a long breath.

"Meanwhile you shouldn't waste time," went on Edna. "The Keenes,--you
know Mr. and Mrs. Keene, the illustrators,--have an artist camp in the
White Mountains. They are dear friends of mine. How should you like to
go up there soon,--in a few days, if I find they will accept you?"

"Edna,