"She could not stay. I tried hard to persuade her, for, papa, I am sorry I have not been kinder to Joyce. We are friends now, dear friends, and I hope we shall always be so. I cannot blame Joyce for going. How could she stay? But you do not know all yet. I trust things will turn out better than they seem to promise. I think I ought to tell you all about Joyce's birthday and what was said, only you must promise to say nothing to mamma. I cannot help thinking she is a little sorry now, and she is more likely to feel regret about Joyce's going if no one speaks of it." Then Adelaide told her father all that had passed, and Mr. Evans listened, not altogether sadly, for his daughter made the most of all that had been bright for Joyce on her birthday—the loving letters and souvenirs from Welton, Mrs. Caruth's consideration for her cousin's safe convoy, the opening of hearts between themselves, and the new-born friendship, which was to bind them more closely than the ties of relationship had done. "And," continued Adelaide, "Joyce will never disgrace the name she bears. I only wish I were more like her." There was much to cheer Mr. Evans in what he heard from his daughter, and acting upon her suggestion, he made no allusion to Joyce's departure. His silence was both a relief and a reproach to his wife, who expected a scene, and was conscious that, in spite of her desire to free herself from a sense of responsibility, she could not even excuse herself for her treatment of Joyce. On the following morning, when Mr. Evans went down, expecting to take his breakfast in solitude, and feeling how much he should miss Joyce's gentle ministry, he found Adelaide already seated at the table. She rose as he entered and lifted her face for a kiss. "Now another, papa," she said. "That is for Joyce. You must give me one every morning for her, as I am her deputy." It was such a new thing for Mr. Evans to be greeted thus by his own children, that he could hardly realize that he was awake, but he showered many kisses on the fair, bright face that waited for them. "I did not expect to see you, my dear," he said. "No, dear papa, but I must try to be a better daughter. I told you yesterday that I was beginning to learn new lessons. If I become what I wish to be, remember, Joyce was my first teacher. When I asked what I could do for her, she told me what I might do in a little way for you. But for her, I should not be here; however, I will not leave you to a lonely meal again." And Adelaide kept her promise. CHAPTER V. JOYCE reached the station nearest to Springfield Park at three o'clock, having had a change of trains, and a stoppage of an hour and a half on the road. Mrs. Caruth's maid, returning direct to Fernsclough, would rejoin her mistress before six.