“Dear child, don’t tell me any more; it is too sad.  Talk of yourself and Harry.  Now you smile, so I’m sure all is well with him.”

“Yes, thank heaven!  Christie, I do believe fate means to spare us as dear old Dr. Shirley said.  I never can be gay again, but I keep as cheerful and busy as I can, for Harry’s sake, and he does the same for mine.  We shall always be together, and all in all to one another, for we can never marry and have homes apart you know.  We have wandered over the face of the earth for several years, and now we mean to settle down and be as happy and as useful as we can.”

“That’s brave!  I am so glad to hear it, and so truly thankful it is possible.  But tell me, Bella, what Harry means to do?  You spoke in one of your first letters of his being hard at work studying medicine.  Is that to be his profession?”

“Yes; I don’t know what made him choose it, unless it was the hope that he might spare other families from a curse like ours, or lighten it if it came.  After Helen’s death he was a changed creature; no longer a wild boy, but a man.  I told him what you said to me, and it gave him hope.  Dr. Shirley confirmed it as far as he dared; and Hal resolved to make the most of his one chance by interesting himself in some absorbing study, and leaving no room for fear, no time for dangerous recollections.  I was so glad, and mother so comforted, for we both feared that sad trouble would destroy him.  He studied hard, got on splendidly, and then went abroad to finish off.  I went with him; for poor August was past hope, and mamma would not let me help her.  The doctor said it was best for me to be away, and excellent for Hal to have me with him, to cheer him up, and keep him steady with a little responsibility.  We have been happy together in spite of our trouble, he in his profession, and I in him; now he is ready, so we have come home, and now the hardest part begins for me.”

“How, Bella?”

“He has his work and loves it:  I have nothing after my duty to him is done.  I find I’ve lost my taste for the old pleasures and pursuits, and though I have tried more sober, solid ones, there still remains much time to hang heavy on my hands, and such an empty place in my heart, that even Harry’s love cannot fill it.  I’m afraid I shall get melancholy,—­that is the beginning of the end for us, you know.”

As Bella spoke the light died out of her eyes, and they grew despairing with the gloom of a tragic memory.  Christie drew the beautiful, pathetic face clown upon her bosom, longing to comfort, yet feeling very powerless to lighten Bella’s burden.

But Christie’s little daughter did it for her.  Ruth had been standing near regarding the “pretty lady,” with as much wonder and admiration as if she thought her a fairy princess, who might vanish before she got a good look at her.  Divining with a child’s quick instinct that the princess was in trouble, Ruth flew into the porch, caught up her latest and dearest treasure, and presented it as a sure consolation, with such sweet good-will, that Bella could not refuse, although it was only a fuzzy caterpillar in a little box.