"Then you will have to walk over to me at Butterdale Manor. You must come early to lunch, and have a good rest and talk. Not to-morrow, for I shall have to go out to tea, but the next day. Will that suit you?" The girl stood still, and regarded her with astonishment. "But we don't even know each other's names," she said. "And you can't want to continue this scraped up acquaintance." "My name is Anstice Holme," said Anstice, smiling at her. "My husband is away just now, and I and the children are alone. I do want to know you and be your friend, if you will let me. You are too young to be so unhappy and so bitter." "I have had cause," the girl answered. "Perhaps I will tell you one day. My name is Louise Repton. I should of course like to come and see you. I would walk twenty miles to have another talk like this. The very pouring out of my troubles has done me good. I expect you will be disgusted at my want of reticence, but you came across me at one of my worst times, and I have just let myself go! It has all been I—I—I! But I have no larger circle than my own to think of!" Then she added eagerly: "Could you not come back and have tea with me? Don't leave me just yet." "But I am afraid I must. It is a long walk back, and my chicks would wonder where I was. We will resume our talk the day after to-morrow, and see if we cannot snatch a few golden gleams out of your monotonous life. Good-bye." She laid her hand affectionately on the girl's shoulder. "Cheer up! After all, you have youth and health and strength, and intellect. Those are all precious gifts. But I won't preach. Do you think you will find your way across the Fells to Butterdale?" "Yes, I have been there once. There was a grand Fête for church schools, and my uncle and I both attended it. It was held at Helvellyn Towers." "At Mrs. Wykeham's. That is eight miles from us. We are on the lake about five miles this side of Helvellyn Towers. You never walked there surely?" "No, we went in a char-à-banc. But I shall find my way all right." They parted, and Anstice, with her faithful attendant Hercules, set off homewards. She felt as if her steps had been directed to that lonely little spot in the Fells where a young life was being crushed by the isolation of her environment. Anstice was a born helper of all the unhappy and helpless. From a child, she had loved anything that was weak or sick, from animals upwards. Her heart was big, and her sympathy unfailing. She mused upon the difference of characters. "What I was loving so, she was hating," she murmured to herself. "But even I, fond as I am of the still, tranquil solitudes of these valleys amongst the Fells, would get hipped and depressed, if I had to be shut up in them through the long wet winters here, and youth and age living together do not make for congeniality. I must concoct some plans for her welfare." She was rather tired when she reached home. Brenda exclaimed when she told her where she had been.