Miss Braithwaite was no wiser as to the future event which she had discussed with Father Morley than she had been in setting forth. Of Cis she was entirely sure; she had no thought in her mind of that which her friend considered for her. Of Anselm she was less sure, yet he gave her no actual ground for supposing that he perceived Cis in any different light from that in which Miss Braithwaite saw her as a dear, lovely, lovable and noble girl. Miss Braithwaite knew quite well that it is a totally other matter to want to marry a girl, than to see in her all sorts of desirable traits. They had not been back in Beaconhite quite two weeks when two things happened to change the direction of Miss Braithwaite’s plans, and Cicely’s, no less. An old friend of Miss Braithwaite’s, living in California, was desperately ill and begged her friend to come to her. Miss Braithwaite was going; she could not, nor would not refuse. Then Cis had a letter from Nan imploring her to come back to her old home in October. There would be a little boy, or a little girl, there then whose godmother Cis, and no one else, must be. Nan implored Cis to come to see her before her baby was born, and to stay on to sponsor it at the font. Miss Braithwaite had intended leaving Cis her house and servants to look after while she was gone, but this news from Nan focused Cicely’s vague intention to return to her old home, and she decided to go back when Miss Braithwaite went away. “You will come back to me, Miss Adair?” Mr. Lucas had said when she told him that for a while, at least, she would not return to her desk. “I hope so, Mr. Lucas; I suppose so,” Cis said. “Miss Braithwaite wants me to come back when she gets home. If her friend dies, as seems likely, she will be saddened, and may need me a little bit when she comes home. I’m pretty sure to come back.” “Whoever may be in your place, I will gladly exchange for you when you come,” said Mr. Lucas. “Promise me not to tell Jeanette a secret when you see her! I am not ready for them to know it, but you have a right to be told before you go. Your extraordinary choice of your Church when everything called you from her, impressed me to such an extent that I made up my mind to find out what was in her thus to raise people above themselves. I have been investigating it. I want to tell you, Cicely Adair, that I have found out.” “Oh, Mr. Lucas!” cried Cis jumping up with a radiant face. “I’m so glad, so glad! And I must tell you that you’ve no idea how much you’ll like the Church when you can stop investigating her, when you begin just to live with her! I’d no sort of idea how splendid she was! I’m so glad I have her, that now I think I didn’t sacrifice a thing then--though it did hurt at the time, and I came horribly near slipping off.” Mr. Lucas laughed. “That’s not a bad tribute to your Mother, my dear,” he said, “though it’s a bit funny. I’m quite sure that I shall find her precisely what you say ‘when I begin to live with her’!”