She was sitting over the fire with her sister-in-law in a small house in a Surrey village. They had not long returned from India. Colonel Arbuthnot had been carried off by an epidemic of cholera about five months after Rowena had joined them out there. As soon as she was able, his widow returned to England, and Rowena accompanied her. An old friend of Colonel Arbuthnot's, Sir Henry Hazelwood, had offered her a pretty cottage in the village of which he was squire; for young Mrs. Arbuthnot had found it necessary to economize as much as possible. Her husband before his death was finding himself in difficulties, and had arranged to give up his Scotch lodge, much to his sister's regret. They had now just settled in the cottage, and the young widow was striving to take up life again for the sake of her little ones. Rowena, of course, was the mainstay in the house. Her cheery personality kept them all going, and she was ready to turn her hand to anything, from painting a gate to repairing a lock; she had just started poultry, and they were thinking of having a little rough pony and trap, for the market town was a good three miles away. It was a cold afternoon in March. Outside it was cheerless and grey. Inside, though simplicity reigned throughout the cottage, the little drawing-room was a picture of cheery comfort. Mrs. Arbuthnot was seated on a comfortable Chesterfield couch by the fire, her sewing in her hand. Rowena was in a lounge chair opposite her, knitting away at a boy's sock. "I suppose I must feel snubbed," said Mrs. Arbuthnot with rather a sad little smile. "I will drop the subject. And I am sure, as I said before, it would be my own loss if you left me. Aren't you afraid we shall find this place most painfully dull?" "No," said Rowena brightly; "why should we? It's a lovely part of the world. Think of the woods and meadows for your pale-faced children. How many picnics we shall have this summer! And Sir Henry and his wife are always wanting us to join their social gatherings. Of course, you don't feel inclined to do so yet, but you will by and by. Ted would not like you to shut yourself up. And I think we're very lucky in our parson. I like him extremely. I have a great admiration for his eldest daughter, mothering the parish as she does, in addition to mothering her small brothers." "Oh, Mr. Waring is all right enough! He's a gentleman and a scholar, and you and he have a good deal in common. I suppose India spoils one, and nothing will ever be the same to me without Ted—I hate a house without a man! It is like a cart without the horse, a train without an engine." "Well, now turn your attention upon Major Cunliffe. I see him walking up the path." A moment after, a tall handsome man was shaking hands with them both. But it was easy to see which of the women was the object of his visit.