"My precious little sister, I shall miss you every day!" Then she was gone, and Evadne, looking eagerly out of her window, saw the dear face, from which the tears had been swept away, smiling brightly at her from the platform. "You magnificent Christian!" she cried. "You will give others the sunshine always!" * * * * * The train steamed into the station at Marlborough and again Louis came forward to greet her with a look of admiration on his unusually animated face. "Well done, Evadne! If the atmosphere of Vernon can work such transformation as this, it ought to be bottled up and sold at twenty dollars the dozen. You go away looking like a snow-wraith, and you return a blooming Hebe." Evadne laughed merrily. "Thank you. The atmosphere of Vernon has a wonderful power," but it was not of the material ozone she was thinking as she spoke. "I believe I will try it. My constitution is running down at the rate of an alarm clock. I must take my choice between a tonic and an early grave. Will you vouch for like good results in my case?" Evadne shook her head. "I do not believe it would have the same effect upon everyone," she said. "Ah, then I shall be compelled to go to Europe." Evadne looked at him. "Yes," she said, "I think Europe would suit you better." "That is unfortunate,--for the Judge's purse. How is Aunt Marthe?" "She is well," she answered with a sudden stillness in her voice. She could not trust herself to talk about this friend of hers to careless questioners. "How is Uncle Lawrence, and all the others?" "The Judge is in his usual state of health, I fancy. We rarely meet except at the table and then you know personal questions are not considered in good form. The others are well, and Isabelle, having just returned from the metropolis of Fashion, is more than ever _au fait_ in the usages of polite society. But none of them have improved like you, little coz. What has changed you so?" And she answered softly, with a new light shining in her lovely eyes,--"Jesus Christ." * * * * * "You poor Evadne!" said Marion that evening, "what a dreary summer you must have had, shut away among those stupid mountains! If you could only have been with me, now. I never had such a lovely vacation in my life. There seemed to be some excitement every day;--picnics and boating parties and tennis matches and five o'clocks----" Evadne laughed. "You would better not let Uncle Horace know you are 'a votary of the deadly five o'clock' or he will empty his vials of denunciation upon your unlucky head. "Oh, Aunt Kate, he sent you a large bundle of fraternal greetings. He says that, 'viewed through the glamour of memory, you impress him like an Alpine landscape, when the sun is rising, and he hopes the soft brilliance of prosperity will ever envelop you in its radiance and serve to enhance the beauty of your stately calm.'"