"Good morning!" she said, a bright smile lighting up her withered countenance and shining in her clear blue eyes; then, glancing after Reginald Hope's retreating figure, she murmured, "Dear, dear! So young, and so ungallant!" She turned her attention to Gerald again. "I am going home; perhaps you will walk with me? Yes. Strange that you and Reginald Hope should be such friends!" "Why?" Gerald could not refrain from asking. "Because he lacks that thoughtfulness for others which always characterises one who is a gentleman at heart," she replied, with prompt decision. Her companion was silenced, recognizing the truth of this statement. He walked along by her side, looking rather depressed, whilst she turned the conversation into other channels, trying in vain to interest him; at last, seeing he was hardly listening to her, she startled him by asking abruptly— "What is on your mind, my dear boy?" "On my mind!" he stammered; "nothing—nothing!" She shook her head, and there was a shrewd look in the eyes which scanned his face. "I wish you'd tell me," she persisted, "for perhaps I could help you." "You, Miss Goodwin!" he exclaimed, somewhat amused at the idea. "Oh no, I am sure you could not." "You can't tell that. Once I had a brother of my own; when he was about your age he was very like you in appearance, and sometimes you remind me of him in other respects. Yes! You are a little impatient of control; you like your own way; and often, when you are with Angel, you treat her as my brother used to treat me—not unkindly, but a little indifferently, without the consideration which, I think, a sister should receive. You will excuse my remarking this, my dear; I do so because perhaps you have never thought of it, and it may be a kindness to point it out—it would have been a kindness, I believe, if any one had pointed it out to my brother when he was a boy." She spoke in a gentle musing tone, as though her mind had travelled far back into the past. It was impossible for Gerald to be annoyed, for her manner was so kind; but he flushed guiltily at her mention of his sister. "Is your brother dead, Miss Goodwin?" he inquired, his curiosity aroused. "Oh yes, he died—I forget when!" A doubtful expression crossed the old face, which suddenly changed to a look of gladness. "He thought of me at the last," she said softly, "and he died a Christian. That was what I had prayed for—that he might find Jesus—that was my heart's desire, which God gave me in His own good time. And so, Gerald, having had a brother myself, and remembering his boyhood so plainly—oh, so plainly!—I do not forget the many temptations and troubles that beset every boy's life, and I can see you are worried about something. I want to ask you if there's anything you're keeping from your father that ought to be told? If so, tell him, my dear, tell him."