Queenie used to build all sorts of impossible castles in the air when she was by herself or with Emmie. "What would you say if we were to be rich one day, very, very rich?" she would ask sometimes; but Emmie only shook her fair head. "Rich, so that we should be obliged to leave this dear cottage! Oh no, Queen, I should not like it at all. I think it is so lovely, we two living all alone together. I never, never, never was so happy in all my life before," finishing with a prolonged hug. "Thank God for that," murmured her sister, fervently, passing her hands gently over the child's upturned face. The sharp outlines were filling out and rounding daily; a soft bloom tinged the thin cheeks; but there was still the same solemn, unchildlike look in the large blue eyes. Their expression used to trouble Queenie sometimes. "Would the shadow of past woe never die out of them?" "Emmie, your eyes never smile," she said once, "and yet you say you are so happy, darling." They were sitting alone in the porch; Cathy had just left them, Garth had fetched her away. Emmie was in her favorite position, with her head resting on her crossed arms on her sister's lap. They had sat for a long time so without speaking, only Queenie's fingers every now and then twined in the child's golden hair. "Why don't you teach your eyes to smile too?" she went on, half seriously. Emmie wrinkled her brows thoughtfully. "I wish they would look like yours, Queen; but then I never saw any eyes like yours, even Cathy says so. When you laugh they seem full of brown sunshine, only so deep, deep down; and when a great thought comes to you, one seems to see it, somehow." "Oh, hush, you little flatterer;" but Queenie blushed, well pleased, over the praise. "You do not know half how beautiful I think you," continued the child, earnestly; "it makes me feel happy and good only to be near you. Do sisters always feel like that, I wonder?" "No, darling, not always." "It must be because we love each other so. There never was a time when your voice was not like music to me. Sometimes I love you so that I ache all over with it; that was in the dreadful old days, when I thought I must die and leave you. Oh, Queen, that would have been so very, very miserable." "Miserable to lose you, Emmie! don't speak of it; I can't bear to think of it even now," pressing the child's slight figure closer in her arms. "It would not be so dreadful now; I should not feel that you were quite so lonely, I mean. No, I will not talk any more about it," catching sight of Queenie's averted face; "we will never be sad, you and I, never." "I wonder if we shall always live alone," she went on, while Queenie dried her eyes. "Perhaps one day you will marry--people do, you know. How strange that will be!" "Should you dislike that idea very much, Emmie?" "I--I don't know," in a reluctant tone. "It will spoil things rather; but if you like it, Queen----"