"No, no—nonsense—not the least need. Have your pleasure, Little Eyebright! I wouldn't for the world stand in the way. Not for a moment! No, no; you'll be off in two days, and back again in a month. And what is a month? Why, it's just nothing!" [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER III SOME CAUSE FOR CARE EUPHRASIA stood close to the bay-window, deep in thought. Her brows were knitted, her eyes fixed upon the dull street, seeing nought. Most of the West Norton streets were dull; and this particular row of houses, built all upon the same fashion, fronted by a long blank wall which enclosed Dr. North's kitchen-garden, could not be called an exception. A girl who had lived there all her life might be expected to grow used to the dulness, but Euphrasia had not always lived there. Three years at a Brighton school, by way of educational finish, had made a marked break. West Norton, after Brighton, wore a slumbrous aspect. For the sleepiness Euphrasia cared little. She had within her young self, life and vigour enough to counteract it. What she did mind was separation from her one friend, Letitia Johnston. Girl-like, she had flung herself, heart and soul, into this friendship; and Letitia had grown to be the centre of her world. An occasional letter by post was found to be a poor substitute for daily and hourly intercourse. Moreover, Euphrasia was suffering from the abrupt ending of school-work. She had not yet found her niche in life, and her unused energies craved for more scope than seemed at present to be within their reach. A certain restlessness was upon her; and this added to the zest with which she looked forward to the promised visit. A whole month in a new place with Letitia's unknown relatives, above all with Letitia herself—all this contained a promise of delight, without a shadow. Euphrasia had not by nature her mother's unquiet spirit, always expecting ills. Her spirit was unquiet only in the desire for more change; and she was unsophisticated. Life thus far had been easy, on the whole. And now as the day drew near, only two nights remaining between, the question arose sharply, Ought she to give it up? Euphrasia was a girl of right principle, and to some extent, of subjection to duty. Religion in her was as yet a thing rather desired than possessed; and the personal love for an unseen Lord and Master, which cannot but result in obedience to His Word, had not yet dawned—although she wished for it. She had a very distinct aim in her mind, to do what was right, not to be selfish, not to be lazy. But the self-pleasing will was strong, as in most young natures—not to speak of older ones, unless transformed under a nobler force of love. She wanted very much to do her duty, but she wanted still more to get her own way. In this particular natter of the projected visit to Letitia, the craving to have her way was overmastering.