"My little mother was not religious," she went on in that low voice; "not till she grew ill, and then she became frightened, and thought she had better turn, and have a priest. But I said 'No,' there was comfort and direction to be got out of the Bible, Waddy had always told me so, so I got it, and hunted about, and found out the most beautiful passages! They made me long to be on my sick-bed getting near the Gates of Paradise. And I read and read, and then I went to church to pray for her, and then I came back and found I could pray in her room, and we read and prayed, and prayed and read, till she was quite happy. She asked me to put over her grave: "'Unto Him Who loved us and washed us from our sins in His Own Blood.' "That was how she went to Paradise with those words upon her lips. I think no Roman Catholic could have died more happily." Mrs. Wharnecliffe looked at her with soft sympathetic eyes. "You'll be a happy girl, if you have a happy religion. I believe Christianity is meant to be so." Then Gentian gave her soft little laugh. "Waddy says it is not good to be always happy; there is a side of us which remains uncultivated—a waste bit of ground, but when one loses one's mother, one goes through enough anguish to last a lifetime. I think if I may, I will go to bed now. I am rather tired." Mrs. Wharnecliffe accompanied her upstairs, saw that she had every comfort for the night, then came down and sat in deep thought before the blazing fire awaiting her husband's return. He rallied her a little upon her extreme quietness. "Your new charge's responsibility has a depressing effect perhaps?" he queried after he had come in and told her all his news. "No—not depressing," was the quick reply; "but I'm wondering if trouble has been to my advantage or otherwise. I've lived very carelessly, Frank. Gentian has a deeper nature than I imagined. I'm intensely interested in her." Then she relapsed into her usual gay tone, and did not mention Gentian again that night. CHAPTER III THE HOUSE THAT WAS WAITING GENTIAN came to the breakfast table the next morning looking the embodiment of spring. She showed her enjoyment of her surroundings in a very fresh and unconventional fashion. "English people are so sociable," she said; "my mother often told me so. They do not eat their breakfast alone in their rooms, and think over their mistakes, and sins of yesterday, but they come together and plan their day out as we are doing now. Oh, it is all delicious. This is how I should like to live, but it takes money to do it, does it not? These lovely flowers and the garden of flowers up to the windows, and the glass and the silver, and the well-laid table. Waddy and I could never have this, never, never!" "I thought you were going to make your fortune," said Mr. Wharnecliffe with a good-natured smile.