"She has her son now, Joyce," he would say. "She will not want my little girl from me so much, and I shall be so glad to have more of your company." Joyce could recall how, at length, the conviction dawned upon her that the old, free intercourse between her and Alec Caruth must be deemed a thing of the past—dead and buried with her childhood. Also that Mrs. Caruth, whilst still as kind and motherly as ever, did not express regret at her absence when she had stayed away longer than usual, or urge her to come more frequently, until she was once more left alone by the departure of her son. Then Joyce's pride took alarm, and she did not respond quite readily to the renewed invitations of Mrs. Caruth, though she was most careful not to allow her feelings to be suspected. On the contrary, her manner was perfectly frank and natural as she replied— "Thank you so much, dear Mrs. Caruth, but my father really requires my help more than he did. He finds that I can now be of some use to him, and I am quite proud to feel that he misses me when I leave him. I fear I used to leave him too much alone, for Fernsclough had so many charms for me, thanks to your great kindness. But there is something else. I am supposed to have finished my education and to be a grown-up girl, but really I am only just finding out how ignorant I am, so my father is going to let me read with him, that I may gain more information, instead of losing the little already acquired." Joyce remembered that conversation with Mrs. Caruth, and how, after it, she had gone less to Fernsclough, until the time of her great trouble came. Then her old friend had been constant in her attentions to the dear father, and full of sympathy with herself. Her uncle's arrival had taken her out of Mrs. Caruth's hands, and they had drifted widely apart from each other during the last nine months. This unexpected invitation to spend Christmas at Fernsclough, and with it the direct news of Major Caruth's presence there, seemed to say, "Forget that I raised a barrier between you and ourselves. Come back to Fernsclough, and take again your old place. Rejoice with me in having my son here once more, and be to us both, what you were during those happy years long ago." Joyce had answered the letter with a somewhat heavy heart, whilst feeling angry with herself that she could be anything but glad at the prospect of staying at Springfield Park for Christmas. "Before your kind letter came, I had promised to remain here," she wrote. "Indeed, I felt only too happy at the thought of being allowed to stay, and did not dream of receiving any other invitation. You will know, dear Mrs. Caruth, that I would rather spend Christmas at Fernsclough than in any other place in the world, for, though Welton and its neighbourhood are associated with the greatest sorrows of my life, all its joyful memories are bound up with them also. Thank God these are so many!"