So it came about that after wandering up and down the country, and living as frugally as possible, George found himself, at the end of a fortnight, without money and without shelter, but within a few miles of his father’s estate. The fierce winter had melted into the genial brightness of the early Spring, once the pleasantest part of the year, but now, alas! as uncommon in these islands as the dodo or the great auk. The first tender green leaves were peeping out shyly among the branches of the trees, as though they were half afraid that winter might not be quite gone, and the air was full of the sweet invigorating essence which lends elasticity to the step of the aged wayfarer, and tempts the young to pitch decorum to the winds and to scamper about and shout and laugh. I pity the lad or the lass whose pulse does not beat quicker on a bright spring day, whose heart does not fill to overflowing with love for Nature as he gazes on the young earth quickening into life and beauty beneath the bright smile of the early spring sun. It was on one of those spring days that Bess and George trod the old road towards the park for the first time since their marriage. But George was nervous and ill, and Bess, oppressed with the idea that her husband had some secret trouble which he would not allow her to share, was profoundly miserable. One idea alone consoled her. He had told her that morning, when further subterfuge was useless, and when he was bound to confess they were penniless, that he was going to see his father. Bess was delighted to hear it. She had not dared to say so, or to urge such a step, but she felt that anything was better than the wandering, miserable life they had led lately. Besides, should she not see her own father? Twice since she had left home she had written a short letter, giving no address and no clue to her whereabouts, saying she was well and happy, and that her father was to have faith in her and think the best he could. And now she was going to see him and tell him all, for George was taking her back as his wife, and there would be no need for further concealment. At any other time the idea of seeing her father would have made her supremely happy. She had looked forward to the day when she might put her arms round his neck and tell him all so eagerly; and now that the time had come she was miserable. Alas! it was the old story. How often the cherished dream of our life is accomplished amid surroundings which make it a hollow mockery, and only serve to intensify the bitter disappointment! We can look back upon yesterday with regret, and we can look forward to to-morrow with pleasure; but, alas! to-day is ever present, and to-day is generally a very dull affair.