’The picture had come—­just come.  It was that which saved him.  Ah, yes’—­the smile flashed out again—­’I had forgotten!  Of course Mrs. Fenwick must know!  It was the picture—­it was she that saved him.  But your note, by some strange accident, had escaped him.  It had fallen out, among some other papers on the floor—­and he was nearly beside himself with disappointment.  I was lucky enough to find it and give it him.  But oh! it was pitiful to see him.’

She shaded her eyes with her hand a moment, waiting for composure.  Miss Anna watched her, the strong mouth softening unconsciously.

’And so, when he asked me to come and see his wife first—­to tell her about his troubles and his breakdown—­I felt as if I could not refuse—­though, of course, I know’—­she looked up appealingly—­’it may well seem strange and intrusive to Mrs. Fenwick.  But perhaps when she understands how we have all been searching for her these many months—­’

‘Searching!’ exclaimed Miss Anna.  ‘Who has been searching?’

Her question arrested her companion.  Eugenie drew herself more erect, collecting her thoughts.

‘Shall we face the facts as they are?’ she said at last, quietly.  ’I can tell you very shortly how the case stands.’

Miss Anna half-rose, looked at the door, sat down again.

‘Mrs. Fenwick, you understand, may return at any time!’

‘I will be very short.  We must consult—­mustn’t we?—­for them both?’

Timidly, her eyes upraised to the vigorous old face beside her, Eugenie held out her delicate hand.  With a quick, impulsive movement, wondering at herself, Miss Anna grasped it.

A little while later Miss Anna emerged from the parlour.  She went upstairs to find Carrie.

Carrie was sitting beside the open door of her room, calmly ripping up a mattress.  The bed behind her had been substantially lengthened, apparently by the help of a packing-case in which Mrs. Fenwick had brought some of her possessions across the Atlantic.  A piece of white dimity had been tacked round the packing-case.

‘Carrie, what on earth are you doing?’ cried Miss Anna, in dismay.

‘It’s all right,’ said Carrie—­’I’m only making it over.  It’s got lumpy.’  Then she laid down her scissors, flushed, and looked at Miss Anna.  ‘Who’s that downstairs?’

‘It’s a lady who wants to see your mother.  Will you go and fetch her?’

‘Father’s “messenger"?’ cried Carrie, springing up, and breathing quick.

Miss Anna nodded.

‘Your mother should be very grateful to her,’ she said, in rather a shaky voice.

Carrie put on her hat in silence, and descended.  The door of the parlour was open, and between it and the parlour window stood the strange lady, staring at the river and the fell opposite, apparently deep in thought.

At the sound of the girl’s step Eugenie turned.

‘Carrie!’ she cried, involuntarily—­’you are Carrie!’ And she came forward, impetuously holding out both her hands.  ’How like the picture—­how like!’