Elma died, and he had not her adoring
admiration to keep up his faith in himself, he fretted himself ill. The
last time I saw him he was a wreck--mentally and physically--and I fancy
those girls must have had a trying time of it before the end."

CHAPTER TWO.

STEPHEN'S CONFESSION.

Stephen Charrington had expressed a wish to consult with his aunt and
uncle less from any preconceived intention than from a feeling of
helplessness which took possession of him as he penned the news of his
father's death. It had seemed to him at the moment that the advice of
any one older and wiser than himself would be of value in deciding plans
for the future, but no sooner was the letter irretrievably on its way
than he began to tremble at the prospect of telling Philippa of what he
had done. Philippa had been left co-trustee with himself, and she was
not a young woman who would meekly be put on one side. What she
thought, she said; what she willed, she accomplished; and anything like
interference was to her as the brandishing of a red rag in the face of a
bull. Stephen resolved to wait for a favourable opportunity before
breaking the news of the intended visit, and to introduce it casually in
the midst of a general conversation, when there would be less chance of
a "scene." On Tuesday he decided to speak on Wednesday; on Wednesday
there seemed abundant reason why he should postpone the disclosure until
Thursday; on Thursday his uncle's note arrived announcing his arrival on
the following day, and there could be no longer delay. Stephen betook
himself to the morning-room, where his sisters sat in conclave, and hid
himself behind a newspaper, awaiting his opportunity.

Despite the gloominess of the autumn day and the mournful nature of the
work on hand, the scene was far from being doleful. To begin with, the
background was pretty--a long, low apartment, half studio, half
workroom, its walls washed a rich crimson hue, and covered with
unmounted sketches, plaster casts on brackets, and a hundred quaint,
artistic odds and ends. Against this background the four sisters made
an interesting group as they busied themselves with the sewing on hand.
There was no money forthcoming to pay dressmaking bills, and little
enough to buy material, so it was necessary to use up what was in the
house--to turn and twist and remake, and cover over, and patch
together--an occupation which involved no little ingenuity in addition
to the mere