But the morning sunshine is a spritely, cold-hearted magician. As the shaky old four-wheeled cab, glorified in the village by the name of "the brougham," rolled over the uneven cobbles, she found herself nodding a cheerful, almost triumphant, farewell to the church and the monument. They were in her eyes the symbols of a life she was leaving behind her, like the gates of a not intolerable prison. She was quite sorry that Mrs. Clerk failed to be on her usual watchful guard at the window. Certainly, if the village was a sort of prison, Mrs. Clerk was its spiritual gaoler, and Nora would have dearly loved to flourish her dawning freedom in the disapproving face of her natural enemy. But Mrs. Clerk was nowhere to be seen, and Nora’s flashing glance encountered only her mother’s grave, thoughtful eyes. Against all advice, Mrs. Ingestre had determined to accompany her daughter up to London. Perhaps she feared her husband’s last exhortations, perhaps she was urged by a secret heart-hunger. Yet her whole face brightened with warm sympathy as she read in Nora’s smile and heightened colour the proud, bold joy of youth plunging for the first time into the full tide of life. "You are glad to go?" she asked in a low voice that was without the faintest tone of reproach. Nora nodded. "I am excited," she said. "I feel like a pioneer setting out on the discovery of new worlds. And so I am. What does it matter that millions of people have been where I am going? _I_ have never been before. It is all new to me." Her father sighed in pained disapproval. "Let us hope that your adventures in foreign lands will not cost you too dear, Nora," he said. "May they bring you back to your home contented and grateful for its blessed peace." Mrs. Ingestre leant forward and laid her hand on Nora’s. The movement might have been made in confirmation of her husband’s words—it might also have had another meaning. It might have meant, taken in conjunction with the almost youthful flash in the dark eyes: "Be of good cheer! The world and life are before you. Grasp both in spite of every one. They are worth fighting for!" And Nora’s clasp responded. Her spirits were at their highest pitch. She was afraid of nothing; the long journey, the foreign country, and its despised inhabitants had no terrors for her. Youth and morning sunshine swept her forward on a wave of impetuous joy. She even found it in her heart to be thankful for the "blows of Providence," though for other reasons than those of her piously resigned parent. "After all, now I shall be able to fight my own battles," was her proud thought.