you take my breath away."

"Yes, I know; but it would be the finest thing for you, especially if
it led to your studying with them during the winter. I don't think
there could be a better place for you than their studio. If Judge Trent
consents, will you go? I can telegraph to-day. The camp lasts only for
a short time, and I don't want you to miss it."

A strange commingling of delight and reluctance seethed in Sylvia's
brain, and her thought flashed to Hawk Island.

"To go so soon!" she said, scarcely aware that she spoke.

"Yes, immediately, or it would not be worth while. Such an opportunity,
Sylvia; and, if I read the sketches aright, the motive power that lay
behind your guarding of those big berries would drive you much further
than to the White Mountains."

"Yes. Oh, yes, Edna. What a friend you are!"

"Then it is settled?"

"Yes, indeed, if Uncle Calvin"--

"Oh, leave Uncle Calvin to me. His dry bones are about to be
vitalized."

CHAPTER XXXII

A SOFTENED BLOW

The scanty sunshine of another New England winter had fallen on the ink
stains in the offices of Calvin Trent, and spring had come again.

Brave little green twigs approached the window and looked curiously in
at the occupants of the two neighboring desks, and the younger man
sometimes returned their challenging with speculative and not unhappy
eyes.

One morning in early June John found in the mail a letter for Judge
Trent, which he passed across to the other desk, unopened.

"'M, h'm," commented the judge, taking it, "another hymn of praise from
Sylvia, I suppose."

He regarded the envelope meditatively. "That girl has worked well,
Dunham."

"The Keenes say so," returned John. "They're greatly interested in
her."

"Edna has been her good angel, for sure, in all this business," said
the lawyer.

"I thought you were the angel in the affair."

"Edna was the power behind me. She persisted until I was glad to buy
peace. She's been indefatigable, that girl: found the right place for
Sylvia to live, and kept an eye to her all winter, introduced her to
the right people, often had her in her home. She's a brick, Edna
Derwent is. Something more than style and fuss and feathers about her.
Yes, Boy, you think I don't see anything; but do you suppose I haven't
taken notice of the way you've mooned around the last month? Do you
suppose I'd have overlooked your tearing up that deed last week, and
putting us to all the extra trouble,