“There, don’t cry!” said Mrs. Hardyng.  “This is only a passing cloud, and your future will be all the brighter for the shadow which now threatens to envelop you in its gloomy folds.”

“I wish I could think so,” said Clemence.  She took her hat mechanically as she said this, and went out, hardly knowing whither to bend her steps, but feeling stifled, and wanting to be alone.

By-and-by she found herself seated by a new-made grave.  A memory of the pale, patient little face, that used to haunt her footsteps, came to her, and she thought sadly of the child’s unhappy fate.

The daylight faded slowly out of the western heavens; the shades of evening gathered round.  Suddenly, as the girl sat absorbed, a tiny hand stole into hers, and two sorrowful, tear-filled eyes sought her own.  It was little Ruth, who had missed her, and whose loving heart would not allow her to rest while one she loved suffered.

They walked homeward together, under the starlit canopy, and Clemence thought that, whatever might come to her, there was one whose pure affection was wholly her own.

“Here, child, is another letter for you!” said Mrs. Hardyng, coming in from the village the following day.  “You are getting to be a personage of some importance, I perceive.”

“Why, who can it be from?” queried Clemence.  “I have no correspondents.”

“Perhaps another anonymous communication,” said her friend.  “Open it and see, for I am dying of curiosity.”

“It is from dear Mrs. Linden,” said Clemence.  “Here is what she writes:” 

“MY ABSENT DARLING:  Why have you not written or come to me?  By your long silence I have been led to infer that you may not have anything pleasant to communicate, and, therefore, fear to disturb me with the narration of your misfortunes.  I have looked for your return for shelter from the home from which you went forth, like some weary bird with drooping wing and plaintive song.  That home is always open to you, with its fond welcome.  Can you have found new friends who have grown dearer than her who bade you good-bye with a prayer in her heart for your future?  If you are happy, which God grant, then I am content.  But I have a strong presentiment of evil; and I fear, I know not what, when my thoughts turn to you.  There was a promise about coming back when tired of your experiment.  I mean to hold my wayward one by that promise.  Do you recollect being accused of too much independence?  If I remember correctly, Mrs. Bailey thought that one of your greatest faults, that needed speedy correction.  I don’t want you to exercise it towards your old friend.  Some of these days, if I do not hear from or see her, I shall come and claim my daughter.

“It can’t be possible that you have found anybody in that out-of-the-way locality to feel particularly interested in—­eh, Clemence?  I have sometimes thought that some other more famed mortal engrossed the affection