“No, not hard,” was the calm reply, “for it was our Father’s will. Mother was not used to such a life. It would be selfish in you to wish her back again. You can go to the vineyard with us tomorrow, and then you will soon learn to be your own mother,” and Luella turned away. “O, not tomorrow!” sobbed Arabel, convulsively. “You will not go tomorrow, Christa?” and she looked tearfully upon her other sister. “Well, and if you stay another day, will you be any more willing to go?” said the straightforward Christabel. Arabel pressed both hands upon her brow, as though she would concentrate her scattered thoughts, and said mournfully, “If you will let me stay until Friday night, I will go anywhere.” “Have you no reason for wishing to remain except your own fancy?” asked Luella, gently. “I don’t know,” was the sad reply; “it may be fancy, but I do want to stay.” “Very well, then,” said Christa, “we will do as you say;” and so the matter was settled. Friday night came at last. The furniture was all packed or disposed of. It was arranged that they should leave early next morning, and Arabel wandered out alone, to take, as she said, a last farewell of the pleasant gulf of Venice, but in reality to meet Claud again, and tell him her grief, and the new home to which she was going. A long, graceful boat came bounding over the water, and the pale, blue light in the stern distinguished it from every other sailer. Soon its keel ran far upon the sand, and a tall, handsome form sprang out, and, giving a few orders to the rowers, told them when to return for him, then walked on, leaving them to put back. Three times did he and Arabel meet and pass each other, and every time a look of recognition passed between them, but there were laws to govern all their actions, which they both knew, to prevent deception. Then, the hours passed all too quickly for their busy tongues, for there had been many changes since they met before. “We will not talk so mournfully any more, Bel. You have been more favored than I, for you have had a mother to love you,” said the youth, pleasantly. “And you than I, for you have had a father to direct,” was the sad reply. For it was Claud’s task now to comfort the petted child. The next day the sisters sold the cottage and left for Orton Village vineyard. “I know not how we shall like each other,” Luella said; and as an instance of the dissimilarities in their characters, we have but to look at the way they speak of their mother’s death. “She is dead, Claud; my own dear mother is dead,” Arabel said, convulsively, stifling her sobs. “O, I can’t be proud now, for she is dead!” And, resting her head on his shoulder, she wept her grief away. Christabel comes next. She was writing to a friend of hers, a vintner, whose place joined Ortonville. “My mother is not living,” she wrote, calmly, “and, for the future, my home will be just where I chance to stay.”