"Oh, do tell me—is it because of her that you have come away? I can't tell you what torture it is to me to think that we have brought trouble into your family." "My dear Gavine, nothing has happened except that which God has overruled. I am quite positive of this, and you have nothing in the world to do with it. I am only too delighted to have a holiday from housekeeping, and my father is thoroughly enjoying himself." "But you will never be able to stand it when you go back. I have been through a little of it, so I know." Sidney smiled bravely as she kissed her. "I feel I can stand anything as long as dad and I are together. A house, after all, is not the chief happiness in one's life. And if we were to move into another place, it would still be home to me." Gavine said no more, and never referred to the subject again. Spring was already showing its hand in the London squares and parks when Sidney and her father turned their steps homewards. As they sped through the fresh green meadows, and noted the budding copses and woods by the side of the railway line, the Admiral said: "It is good to be going home, little girl. I have already my old craving for the salt sea breeze and the sweet smell of the country." Sidney nodded, but could not trust herself to speak. Her heart felt as heavy as lead. She gazed out of the carriage window with misty eyes, and longed that the end of their journey should come, so that her fears might either be certainties or be proved groundless. The hired fly was at the station to meet them, and the stationmaster, as usual, had a little pleasant chat with the Admiral. "Saw the Major down here yesterday, sir. A deal of company since you've been away." "I wonder if the company has departed," Sidney said to her father, as they were driving up together. "I should hope so," her father said; then he turned to her with his cheeriest smile. "Remember, little woman, we have quite made up our minds that we are going home to pack up our things and flit. We'll be a happy party till then, I hope." "We will try to be," said Sidney valiantly. Mrs. Urquhart met them in the hall, and welcomed them back in her sweet gracious way. But when the Admiral went into his study, which—manlike—was the first room he entered, he drew in a long breath of surprise and consternation. It was almost entirely transformed. A whole row of some of his choicest books had disappeared, some old oil paintings—family portraits—had been taken away and cheap prints hung in their places on the wall. Two big lounge chairs and an old curiosity cabinet had gone, and only his writing table had remained as he had left it. There was no fire in the room, and it looked cold and dreary. Hearing her father exclaim, Sidney stepped in after him, and her eyes flashed with indignation. "How dare she interfere with your room!"