“I’ve been considering these points, Cis, my dear,” said Miss Braithwaite, evidently equipped with a decision upon them. “I am sure that Rodney Moore will try to see you once. I think that he will come here; he will hardly attempt to say to you what he will want to say in the street, meeting you on your way to and from the Lucas and Henderson offices. You need not see him here; I will see him for you. After that, I am hopeful that he will let you alone. I do not know him, but I know human nature, and I believe that after I have seen him for you, he will let you alone. As to keeping on with the office, that is as you please. But, Cicely, I have a proposition which I want you to consider; to be truthful, I do not want you to consider it, but to take it up at once. I am a solitary woman in this great house, with no one but servants around me. I want you to spend the winter here, with me. I hope for your help in my schemes; Father Morley’s girls’ club, my tatterdemalions, other things. You are young, attractive, bright; you can do all sorts of work for these objects. Then, for me, you can do more! Be a little fond of me, talk to me, companion me. And, last not least, for yourself; read my books--perhaps not every one on those shelves, but many of them; play a little, study a little, think a great deal; you went through school, now give yourself a little riper, deeper, higher education! And, Cis, dear, learn your faith! It seems a pity to miss its beauty, the joy it has for you, when you’ve bravely embraced unhappiness for it! As if you had risked your life for one almost a stranger, as you thought, and suddenly discovered it was your dearest, beloved friend! You’ll be delighted with the Church, my dear, when you get acquainted with her beauty! Dear, you’ve missed happiness and it’s hard, but happiness more profound and lasting is within your reach; I promise it to you! Now, Cis, will you stay with me?” “Oh, Miss Braithwaite, I’d just dearly love to!” cried Cicely, springing up to throw herself on her knees beside Miss Braithwaite, her radiant head on her shoulder, sobbing a little, yet with the first ray of comforting hope penetrating her despair. Cicely arose the next morning to resume life on its new basis, yet under its old routine. This is, perhaps, the hardest strain imposed upon anyone who is newly bereft, by death or by the crueller deprivations of life. To go once more amid the familiar surroundings, greet the accustomed faces with a surface smile, seeing with bewildered amazement that the eyes smiling back recognize one for the same person that they have always seen though one feels like a shade walking the earth in the semblance of life, this is to deepen that painful sense of remoteness from common experience, which is the lasting hallmark of profound suffering.