When Bella came back from England that September, Mar and his daughter had been already six weeks at home. Although given full credit for having so happily reconstituted the domestic circle, for Hildegarde herself the devouring loneliness that had invaded existence showed its first sign of yielding when Bella’s childish face appeared at the door. None the less for Bella’s friend a shrinking of the heart as she held close the slight figure in its smart French gown. What a butterfly to be broken on the wheel of life! “But Louis!” Twenty minutes after her arrival, Bella, as she followed Hildegarde up-stairs, put the question for the second time. Why had he stayed behind? Hildegarde’s only answer was to hold open the door of her room and, when the new-comer had passed through, to shut it softly behind them both. Still in silence she laid down Bella’s hat and gloves, and then came and stood beside her friend, who sat watching her from the old nook of the cushioned window-seat. “You might have told me something, even in a cable. What happened up there?” Bella said softly. “What happened?” “Yes. About Louis.” “I came to realize him. There’s nothing like that wonderful north light for making you see truly.” “Well, what did you find he was like when you saw him—like that, in a north light?” “I found that he was—the man I wanted to go through life with.” “I’ve been hoping for that,” said Bella quietly. “Ah, but I didn’t only find him up there. I lost him, too.” Bella leaned forward and took Hildegarde’s hand. Very gently she drew her down on the cushioned seat. Hildegarde had turned her filling eyes away, but she faced her friend for the moments of that low crying, “Oh, Bella, Bella, when you think what a miracle it is to find the right one in the maze, how is it that we ever let the right one go?” Bella released the hand she had taken and turned her head, looking out of the window. But Hildegarde’s thrilling voice went on: “I wonder we don’t watch at the gate of the Beloved from dawn till night, waiting till he comes. I wonder he doesn’t lie all night at her door, for fear in a dream she may steal away.” “And yet,” said the other, “in broad daylight each lets the other go.” “Yes, and with an air of being willing. Of being able to bear their going. And we can’t bear it!” Her dimmed eyes fell on Bella’s beautiful face. “At least, I can’t bear it—or—if I do, it will be because you help me, Butterfly Bella. For you’ve learned how.” “Yes, I’ve learned how.” Strange, wonderful little Bella. Hildegarde stared at the slight creature, half-stoic and half-sprite. “How was it? Why couldn’t Louis see?” “I tried his patience again and again.” “You didn’t wait till you got him in a north light for that.” “—and he was strong and kind and immovable in his goodness, no matter what I did or said. And his faithfulness to my father—there aren’t any words for that. But you remember—Bella, sit close—mother told you about the hermit.” “The hermit?”