But time wore on, as it always does, through the weariest weeks, as through “the roughest day.” Christmas came and went. January far advanced, and Marion began to think indeed, she was never to see Ralph Severn again, for Cissy still spoke of the not for-distant “spring” as the probable date of her return to India. April had been originally mentioned as the limit of their stay at Altes, but before then, she heard from the children, the Severn household was to be removed to Switzerland for the summer. Sybil sometimes spoke of her uncle. He had been in London for the last month, she said. And then two or three days after, with great delight, she showed Marion a letter he had sent her from Paris, dated from the Hôtel de ——, where he said he was going to stay a week or two. “And after that, perhaps, he will come home here,” said Sybil. “Nonsense, Sybil,” said Lotty, hastily; “that’s not at all certain. He may, perhaps, not return to Altes at all. What do you know about it, I’d like to know?” She spoke roughly and rudely, and Sybil began to cry. Marion checked Lofty, and desired her to attend to her lessons, and not interfere with her sister. Then she tried to soothe Sybil, but it was difficult to do so. Of late the child had seemed far from well. Her timidity and nervousness had increased to a painful extent, and Marion felt strangely anxious and uneasy about her. More than ever she felt persuaded that some unhappy influence was injuriously affecting the child, though in what it consisted, or how it was exercised, she was utterly unable to conjecture. This morning Lotty happened to be sent for by her grandmother, a few moments after receiving her governess’s reproof for her roughness to Sybil. When left alone with the poor little girl, still sobbing piteously, Marion again tried to soothe her. She took her on her knee, and spoke kind, loving words, while she kissed and caressed the throbbing brow and tear-stained cheeks. “Sybil my darling,” she said, “try and leave off crying. It will make your head ache so. Lotty did not mean to be unkind; she only spoke thoughtlessly, as she does, but you must not mind it so very much.” Sybil clung to her more closely and tried to check her sobs as she answered. “It isn’t Lofty I’m crying about, dear Miss Freer. I’m thinking Uncle Ralph isn’t coming back.” “But he’s sure to come back before long, dear,” said Marion;” Lotty only said he wasn’t perhaps coming just yet.” “Oh! but I want him so much,” said Sybil, “so very much. I was thinking I would tell him. I couldn’t tell any one else.” “What about, dear?” asked Marion, gently. “If you will tell me, perhaps I can help you.” “No, you couldn’t,” answered Sybil. “Besides I mustn’t tell you. I said I wouldn’t, and it might hurt you. I didn’t mean ever to tell anybody, because of what Emilie said. But since it has been so bad, I thought I would tell Uncle Ralph. He is big and strong, you know, and he wouldn’t laugh at me.”