Mrs. Caruth gave all the particulars, adding, "I believe the loss of everything broke Mr. Mirlees' heart. But I was not at home when he died. I preferred remaining abroad for some time after you left me to facing home without you." "But there was his little girl—Joyce. What became of her?" "You forget, Alec, Joyce is now twenty-one. Her uncle, Mr. Walter Evans, took her to his home." "Evans! Surely you mean a subdued-looking man with a rich, vulgar wife, and two very handsome daughters, whom we first saw when we were staying with the Clives at The Warren. Mr. Evans had a beautiful place near theirs. We afterwards met the family at Mentone." "The same people. Mr. Evans was poor before his marriage, but a man of good birth, refined manners, and excellent education. Every one liked him, but the wife was tolerated for his sake, or by some, perhaps, on account of a full purse." "So my little Joyce went to live with that vulgar, purse-proud woman; my playmate, whom I petted and protected when she was a child and I a man. Have you heard from her lately; I should like to know how she gets on with Mrs. Evans, seeing that she had a wonderfully tender nature, combined with a fine spirit of her own, which would ill brook a position of dependence on such a woman." Mrs. Caruth could only answer truly, and she said—"I fear Joyce was unhappy at The Chase. Mr. Evans was fond of his niece, but he yielded to his wife, and was hardly master in his own house. Joyce grew tired of her position, and wrote to me for a character to enable her to obtain a situation." "A what? Joyce Mirlees used that word in connection with herself? What could she mean?" "I use her own word, Alec." "Then I presume she was falling back on the only resource of a friendless young gentlewoman, a governess's post." "No, dear; Joyce did not consider herself sufficiently accomplished to take a situation as governess. People want so much nowadays, and Joyce, though to my mind unusually well-educated in all that is most valuable, had none of the more showy qualifications." "She had those which, showy or not, are most valuable in every-day life, and really show the most too, because they are in hourly exercise for the good of others. Tell me, now, what were the duties she undertook?" "She went as attendant to two little children." "Do you mean as a nursemaid?" "The children were too old to need nursing. Joyce wrote of them that they were the most winning little creatures imaginable, and quite a comfort to her." "She needed some comfort, poor child!" said Major Caruth, with a sigh. "And you, mother; what did you do for the daughter of an old friend?" He spoke quietly, but his face and words expressed deep feeling.