"How good you are to me!" she said. "You are always thinking of my pleasure, of things which you know I like, and, after all, it ought to be just the other way round." "I am very fond of you," Hildegarde answered in a low voice. "Though I know you so short a time, you are the only friend I really care for. It made me bitter to see other girls enjoy their life—but you are different. I don’t think I should grudge you—anything." Her voice broke suddenly. She turned her face to the wall, and there was a long silence. Nora still knelt by the sofa. Her eyes were fixed thoughtfully in front of her, and there was an expression on her young face of wonder, almost of fear. Something new had come into her life. There was a change in herself of which she was vaguely conscious. What was it? What had brought it? Was it possible that in a mere glance something had passed out of her, something been received? She sprang restlessly to her feet, and as she did so a smothered, shaken sob broke upon the stillness. In an instant she had forgotten herself and her own troubled thoughts. She bent over the quivering figure and tried to draw away the hands that hid the tear-stained face. "Hildegarde—you are crying? What is it? What have I done?" "Nothing—nothing. It is only—I am so silly and weak—and the music——" She broke off and looked up into Nora’s face with a pathetic, twisted smile. And then, seeming to yield to a passionate impulse, she flung her thin arms about her companion’s neck. "Oh, Nora, you are so pretty and good! Every one _must_ love you—and I love you so!" The words were an appeal, a confession, a cry breaking from an over-burdened heart. Nora drew the fair head against her shoulder, pitying and comforting a grief which she as yet but partly understood. *CHAPTER VIII* *THE AWAKENING*