It was usual for the young lady, after arranging her domestic affairs, to walk down to the parsonage and recite the lessons learned the day before. But this morning, even if she had been prepared with lessons, something held her back from going to meet the one being who occupied all her thoughts. Immediately after the departure of her visitor, she opened her piano, and tried to fix her mind on her practice, but this she found was impossible. A voice continually sounded in her ears, "What would my life have been worth if the dog had overtaken you?" And then those sweet epithets when she awoke—"Helen, my darling, have they killed you?" Just as the hall clock was striking ten, the door opened and Sybil walked in. It was evident something had occurred to vex her, for her mouth was set hard and defiant, though her inquiries about the health of her favorite were as tender as ever. She bustled about, tumbling the music over, and peeping into Helen's portfolio, until the young lady asked what she was looking for. "Well!" she exclaimed, throwing off her shawl. "I may as well own up. I used to think Sybil Knowles above the weaknesses of her sex, but I confess I made an egregious mistake. She's just like the rest of 'em, and that's enough news for one morning." She caught up her shawl and pinned it across her breast, keeping her mouth tightly shut all the time. "You're not going yet," cried Helen, seizing her arm. "I wanted to hear about—about—your father, and all the family." "They're all well, thank you," was the unpromising reply, and Sybil made toward the door. But catching a glimpse of her pet's tear-dimmed eyes, she hesitated, and then explained: "It's no use to hide it. We've had a stormy time at home this morning. I don't approve of it, and I never will. Only last night I thought—well, it's no matter what an old maid like me thought,—but now there's fury and all to pay. I wouldn't have believed there was so little sense in the world." "What do you mean, Sybil? I can't understand a word you say." "Well, I'll ask one plain question, though perhaps you'll think it's none of my business. Why didn't you tell me about Roswell Edmond Tracy! There? I've done it; and I am not sorry either," as Helen's face grew crimson. "I took you to be a frank girl, and I would have set your truthfulness against the world." She twitched her hand from her companion and walked off stiffly down the avenue. Before Helen, astonished beyond measure by her words and actions, could recover herself, the woman was almost out of sight. "What can it mean? I'll go right down to the parsonage and find out," was the young lady's first resolution. But after what had occurred the day before, she shrank from putting herself in the way of meeting Frederic. It belonged to him to seek an interview.