Turning suddenly Marjorie put both arms about Miss Prudence’s neck:  “I’ve missed you, dreadfully, Miss Prudence; I almost cried to-night.”

“So that is the story I find in your eyes.  But you haven’t asked me the news.”

“You haven’t seen mother, or Linnet, or Morris,—­they keep my news for me.”  But she flushed as she spoke, reproaching herself for not being quite sincere.

Prue stood on the hearth rug, looking up at the portrait of the lady over the mantel.

“Don’t pretend that you don’t want to hear that Nannie Rheid has put herself through,” began Miss Prudence in a lively voice, “crammed to the last degree, and has been graduated a year in advance of time that she may be married this month.  Her father was inexorable, she must be graduated first, and she has done it at seventeen, so he has had to redeem his promise and allow her to be married.  Her ’composition’—­that is the old-fashioned name—­was published in one of the literary weeklies, and they all congratulate themselves and each other over her success.  But her eyes are big, and she looks as delicate as a wax lily; she is all nerves, and she laughs and talks as though she could not stop herself.  What do you think of her as a school girl triumph?”

“It isn’t tempting.  I like myself better.  I want to be slow.  Miss Prudence, I don’t want to hurry anything.”

“I approve of you, Marjorie.  Now what is this little girl thinking about?”

“Is that your mamma up there?”

“Yes.”

“She looks like you.”

“Yes, I am like her; but there is no white in her hair.  It is all black, Prue.”

“I like white in hair for old ladies.”

Marjorie laughed and Miss Prudence smiled.  She was glad that being called “an old lady” could strike somebody as comical.

“Was papa in this room a good many times?”

“Yes, many times.”

Miss Prudence could speak to his child without any sigh in her voice.

“Do you remember the last time he was here?”

“Yes,” very gently.

“He said I would like your house and I do.”

“Nannie is to marry one of Helen’s friends, Marjorie; her mother thought he used to care for Helen, but Nannie is like her.”

“Yes,” said Marjorie, “I remember.  Hollis told me.”

“And my best news is about Hollis.  He united with the Church a week or two ago; Mrs. Rheid says he is the happiest Christian she ever saw.  He says he has not been safe since Helen died—­he has been thinking ever since.”

Tears were so near to Marjorie’s eyes that they brimmed over; could she ever thank God enough for this? others may have been praying for him, but she knew her years of prayers were being answered.  She would never feel sorrowful or disappointed about any little thing again, for what had she so longed for as this?  How rejoiced his mother must be!  Oh, that she might write to him and tell him how glad she was!  But she could not do that.  She could tell God how glad she was, and if Hollis never knew it would not matter.