Then the years went by.  She grew up and filled her life with many interests and ambitions.  She was at least a worker, if nothing else; she had always been a diligent scholar, and now she took her place as an able teacher.  She was self-reliant, and, perhaps, somewhat conceited.  But, at least, Bernardine the young woman had learnt something which Bernardine the young child had not been able to learn:  she learnt how to smile.  It took her, about six and twenty years to learn; still, some people take longer than that; in fact, many never learn.  This is a brief summary of Bernardine Holme’s past.

Then, one day, when she was in the full swing of her many engrossing occupations:  teaching, writing articles for newspapers, attending socialistic meetings, and taking part in political discussions—­she was essentially a modern product, this Bernardine—­one day she fell ill.  She lingered in London for some time, and then she went to Petershof.

CHAPTER III.

Mrs. Reffold learns A lesson.

Petershof was a winter resort for consumptive patients, though, indeed, many people simply needed the change of a bracing climate went there to spend a few months; and came, away wonderfully better for the mountain air.  This was what Bernardine Holme hoped to do; she was broken down in every way, but it was thought that a prolonged stay in Petershof might help her back to a reasonable amount of health, or, at least, prevent her from slipping into further decline.  She had come alone, because she had no relations except that old uncle, and no money to pay any friend who might have been willing to come with her.  But she probably cared very little, and the morning after her arrival, she strolled out by herself, investigating the place where she was about to spend six months.  She was dragging herself along, when she met the Disagreeable Man.  She stopped him.  He was not accustomed to be stopped by any one, and he looked rather astonished.

“You were not very cheering last night,” she said to him.

“I believe I am not generally considered to be lively,” he answered, as he knocked the snow of his boot.

“Still, I am sorry I spoke to you as I did,” she went on frankly.  “It was foolish of me to mind what you said.”

He made no reference to his own remark, and passing on his way again, when he turned back and walked with her.

“I have been here nearly seven years,” he said and there was a ring of sadness in his voice as he spoke, which he immediately corrected.  “If you want to know anything about the place, I can tell you.  If you are able to walk, I can show you some lovely spots, where you will not be bothered with people.  I can take you to a snow fairy-land.  If you are sad and disappointed, you will find shining comfort there.  It is not all sadness in Petershof.  In the silent snow forests, if you dig the snow away, you will find the tiny buds nestling in their white nursery.  If the sun does not dazzle your eyes, you may always see the great mountains piercing the sky.  These wonders have been a happiness to me.  You are not too ill but that they may be a happiness to you also.”