shes
you to be in London, in time for the evening mail to France."

Cecilia guessed what had happened. "My sister is not getting well," she
said, "and the doctors are sending her to the Continent."

"To the baths at St. Moritz," Emily added. "There is only one difficulty
in the way; and you can remove it. Your sister has the good old
governess to take care of her, and the courier to relieve her of all
trouble on the journey. They were to have started yesterday. You know
how fond Julia is of you. At the last moment, she won't hear of going
away, unless you go too. The rooms are waiting at St. Moritz; and your
father is annoyed (the governess says) by the delay that has taken place
already."

She paused. Cecilia was silent. "Surely you don't hesitate?" Emily said.

"I am too happy to go wherever Julia go es," Cecilia answered warmly; "I
was thinking of you, dear." Her tender nature, shrinking from the hard
necessities of life, shrank from the cruelly-close prospect of parting.
"I thought we were to have had some hours together yet," she said. "Why
are we hurried in this way? There is no second train to London, from our
station, till late in the afternoon."

"There is the express," Emily reminded her; "and there is time to catch
it, if you drive at once to the town." She took Cecilia's hand and
pressed it to her bosom. "Thank you again and again, dear, for all you
have done for me. Whether we meet again or not, as long as I live I
shall love you. Don't cry!" She made a faint attempt to resume her
customary gayety, for Cecilia's sake. "Try to be as hard-hearted as I
am. Think of your sister--don't think of me. Only kiss me."

Cecilia's tears fell fast. "Oh, my love, I am so anxious about you! I am
so afraid that you will not be happy with that selfish old man--in that
dreary house. Give it up, Emily! I have got plenty of money for both
of us; come abroad with me. Why not? You always got on well with Julia,
when you came to see us in the holidays. Oh, my darling! my darling!
What shall I do without you?"

All that longed for love in Emily's nature had clung round her
school-friend since her father's death. Turning deadly pale under the
struggle to control herself, she made the effort--and bore the pain of
it without letting a cry or a tear escape her. "Our ways in life lie far
apart," she said gently. "There is the hope of meeting again, dear--if
there is nothing more."

The clasp of Cecilia's arm tightened round he