CHAPTER III.

LOVE DOES NOT FLY OUT OF THE WINDOW.

OTTO let himself out into the darkness, leaving the two girls looking at each other.

"He said he had heaps to do!" exclaimed Phyllis.

"He has altered his mind. But what is this, about mother's eyes?"

Phyllis explained, and then Gertrude ran up-stairs to find her mother.

The rooms were all dark, but as she peeped into her mother's, across the strip of moonlight was a kneeling figure.

The figure rose on hearing her step, and her mother came to her side and drew her to the window. Neither spoke for a moment, then Gertrude said gently—

"Your eyes may be better again, mother!"

"I hardly expect that my dear, but—"

"You have seen a way?"

"Yes; 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'"

"That is the best help there can be."

Again they stood in silence, watching the bright rippling sea, sparkling like diamonds in the moonlight.

"What is this situation you have heard of, my dear?"

"It is near Hampstead; Miss Timely knows the people well, and says I should be very comfortable. There are four boys and two girls—"

"Boys?" asked Mrs. Ashlyn.

"Oh, not all for me to teach! One little boy, I think, and the two girls."

"When do they want you?"

"Directly. But, mother, the salary is good, much better than what Miss Timely gave me. And then you will not have my board, you know!"

"Your board!" said her mother fondly. "But, Gertrude, how shall I part with you, and how shall you bear to go?"

"That I do not know," she answered, in a tone that had a sort of huskiness in it. "But sometimes I have wished for a change—"

"Have you, dear?"

"Yes," answered Gertrude slowly, her voice growing clear and calm again, "yes, I have. I thought it would be good for us all. I shall come back again, God willing. But—if you do not mind, I should like to go."

Mrs. Ashlyn was very thoughtful for a few moments, still with her arm round her daughter's waist, and still looking out on the sea.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the question got no farther than her lips.

Perhaps Gertrude did not desire to prolong the interview. At any rate she drew herself away gently, and said in a would-be sprightly tone—

"I must write about this at once, mother, and then set to about some adornments! What a good thing it is you have made me keep my clothes in such good order!"

"I never thought it would be for this," said her mother ruefully.

"Ah! We do not know what good things are in store for us, by and by, mother. Let us trust on; we have been cared for hitherto."

Mrs. Ashlyn followed her down-stairs, and superintended the letter to a certain Mrs. Shaddock, living in a certain road near Hampstead; which letter got written and posted before they went to bed.

"I'll run over and put it in the box," said Gertrude, throwing a light shawl over her head. "Mother, I shall not be able to be so primitive at Hampstead!"

"No, my dear. You will miss the freedom."

"I shall miss a great many things," she answered soberly.

Meanwhile Otto had made his way from the houses of the little village, and had found a sheltered nook among the rocks where he could be alone, and yet could see the sea and the moon.

But though his eyes were fixed upon it, his thoughts were elsewhere.

He felt conscious of having received a blow. He was unwilling to acknowledge it to himself, and yet he felt it was there.

He had been sure two years ago that he had buried something—a very dear hope—safely and securely in the depths of his heart, never again to rise, he had assured himself. And yet—yet the imprisoned hope was not dead! It had burst its chains, and was there by his side, with more life than ever!

When he had first come to Lanriffe, the pretty little fishing village near to the larger town of Camptown, and had settled down in Mrs. Ashlyn's happy little cottage, he had found out after a few months that there was one in that cottage who had become worth all the world to him.

Then had come thoughts of prudence and necessity—his unfinished studies, his uncertain future, his poverty, everything.

He had had a sore struggle, but he had considered he had conquered.

"As sisters henceforth," he had assured himself. And till to-night he had believed it true.

Now she was going away! Uncertain?—Nonsense, of course she would go!

All his patience and self-control were cast to the winds. He bent his head to the blast, and felt as if there were nothing in the world of any use now! Gertrude was going away!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]