What could Austin say? He could never be anything but courteous to a woman; so he murmured something about the past being the past, and having no cause for resentment, and then he slipped away. "'Pon my soul," he muttered, "she's one too much for me. I don't know where I am, but I'll keep clear of her for all I'm worth; for I'll play the game with the old Major! And I'm honestly sorry for the poor beggar!" After Austin had left her, Sidney sat with her head in her hands. In spite of her bright brave spirit, she had times of real darkness and depression, and no one but herself knew what an effort it was to live through her days. She now was doing what she seldom allowed herself to do—looking back into the past. It was hardly a year ago that she had lost the one who was her all in all: not by death—she could have borne that better—but by his own treachery. Her soul writhed at the very thought of the valley of humiliation into which he had cast her, and through which she had struggled with soreness and anguish of heart. Now she had lost both her father and home. Like Job, she felt inclined to say: "My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of my heart." Her future seemed to stretch away from her in one dreary monotonous line. The purpose in her life had been snapped. The care of her father had been her absorbing thought since the end had come between herself and Archie Hughes. Now that was gone! How could she gather up the broken fragments of her life to the best advantage? She lifted up her heart in earnest prayer: "Thou will teach me how to glory in tribulation. Thou will not quench the smoking flax! It is Thine hand upon me. Show me what Thou wouldest have me to do." This was the gist of her prayer. And when Sidney went to her knees, she always rose with serene and steadfast eyes. "As long as I am left in the world, I am wanted there," she said to herself. "If my own personal life is not all that I desire, there are other people's lives around me to be thought of. And I am absolutely free to help wherever my help is needed most." It seemed at present to be needed at Thanning Towers. Mrs. de Cressiers, with tears in her eyes, had begged her to come to her. "I have never urged you before, Sidney, because of your dear father; but now your way seems clear. After all, I am your nearest relation in this county. I may be able to help you about getting a small house if you are still determined to live alone; you certainly will help me. As one gets older, one feels less equal to bearing the strain and anxiety alone. You are the only one I can talk to about my husband and boy, and you don't know what your sympathy and companionship will be to me." Sidney arranged to go. The evening before she went she spent in tidying the Admiral's desk. Her uncle crept into the room almost stealthily.