xon reminded Elsie that young women ought not to go out habited
in black gowns when the white and purple clover blossoms stood thick in
the meadows, and the hawthorn shook its fragrant snows over the hedges.
So Elsie dressed herself in violet and lilac, and Miss Saxon secretly
exulted in seeing the admiring glances which were cast upon her when she
went out into the sunshine.

One day Miss Kilner went to the Royal Academy Exhibition with a very old
friend.

This old friend was Mr. Lennard, rector of the Sussex village where she
was born. He was seventy years of age--hale, rosy, and strong; a
suitable escort for the beautiful young woman who wore a bonnet made of
heliotrope, and had dark-brown eyes that shone like stars.

She enjoyed the pictures with all her heart, especially those views of
cornfields steeped in yellow sunlight, and glimpses of shady woodland
which reminded her of her early home. Mr. Lennard, too, enjoyed the
pictures, but they did not absorb his whole attention. Now and then he
caught sight of familiar faces in the crowd, and then there were hearty
greetings and rapid questions and answers.

Sometimes it was the face of an old college friend which caught his eye,
and he would almost shout for joy to see it smiling and alive, when he
had thought it hidden under the daisies. Sometimes it was a rosy matron
whom he had last seen as a bashful bride. And these meetings were so
frequent that Elsie had got quite used to his starts and exclamations
before they had gone half through the rooms.

When he said, "Bless me, it's--no, it isn't--yes, it is--of course it
is!" she was gazing intently at one of those pictures which will always
have an attraction for women of her temperament. Long afterwards she
could have described the painting accurately, and would never forget it
as long as she lived.

Two nuns, one old and the other young, were waiting for admittance
outside the door of a convent. They had been out into the world to nurse
the sick, and had returned (each laden with her basket) in the glory of
a summer morning. The elder woman, weary with her labours, waited with
half-closed eyes for the door to open. The younger, pale, but full of
irrepressible vitality, stood looking at the rich, warm human life which
she had renounced for ever. A young wife, with an infant on her arm, had
brought her husband his midday meal, and he had flung down his scythe to
kiss her under the trees. Those two faces, browned