This was the fourth of a set of visits which Amethyst and Una had paid, sometimes alone, and sometimes with their mother. One of these visits had been to the Fowlers at the country house which was part of Mrs Fowlers fortune, and, little as the girls had wished to go there, they had found Mrs Fowler far the kindest friend they met in their wandering life. She was very good to the lonely girls, though they never knew in what light Major Fowler had represented their story to her; and Una was loyal and brave, and resisted even the temptation of not being tempted by notice from her host But the visit was a great strain on her, she felt the force of the temptations in her path, and did not know what upward growth was indicated by her knowing them to be temptations. She was too young and too impressionable not to be influenced by the atmosphere around her; outward helps were very few, and the struggle was hard within her. Still there were moments of peace, times which taught her what a holy life might be, times which upheld and uplifted her, the poor sinful girl who was trying to be a saint. Amethyst's troubles were of a different sort. She had left Cleverley with several growing purposes and intentions, and with a strong desire, an earnest wish to win that nobleness of character of which Mr Riddell had spoken, a wish that had always been as salt within her, but which Sylvester had touched with fire. She threw all the weight of her beauty on the side of maidenly conduct and modest speech, and there was neither man nor woman in the free-and-easy, careless-tongued set among whom she moved, who would take a liberty with Amethyst Haredale. But she was bored to death. There was nothing to do, nothing to know, nothing to feel. She was like a wild, strong creature in a cage. She worked at her Latin and mathematics in the early morning, she played tennis with vigorous interest in the game, and none in her partners, she took long walks by herself, but everything was dull, stale, flat, and unprofitable. The rebellion in her soul grew more and more violent. There were hours when she came to wish that she had resisted Sylvester and married Sir Richard. Anything would have been better than the life she had to lead now. She heard occasionally from Miss Riddell, and had so been told of the terrible accident to Lucian Leigh, and of his almost fatal illness, but the same letter contained also better news, and since then she had heard that he was slowly recovering. She had been shocked and startled, but it was difficult to realise Lucian as otherwise than well and strong, and no details had been given to her.