When I found Mr. Osborne sitting opposite to me as we set out again homeward, I cannot tell how strangely I felt. My cheeks were tingling still with the name he had used--Harry--and I was overpowered with all the recollections which his presence brought to me. The last time we had been together in the same carriage was at my father's funeral, and all the recollections of that most eventful time--my betrothal, my marriage, my father's illness and death--came rushing back upon me in the sound of his voice. I had hard ado to preserve my composure outwardly. I was scarcely able to do more than introduce him to Flora, to whom he began to talk with pleasure and surprise, as I thought, pleased with her for her name's sake, though, in the twilight, he could scarcely see her sweet face, and then I sank back into my corner, and gave all my strength to subdue the tumult of memories and emotions which rose in my mind. That I should be taking him home to Cottiswoode--that he should still speak of my husband as Harry--that he should come to see my defeat and anxious struggle to do my duty--how strange it was! I remember that night as people remember a dream--our rapid progress through the dark--the gleam of the carriage lamps--the sound of the horses' feet--the conversation going on between Mr. Osborne and Flora, and the long sigh of the wind over the bare expanse of country. We went at a great rate, and reached home sooner than I expected. It looked so home-like; so bright; so full of welcome; the hall-door wide open; the warm light streaming out; and my husband standing on the threshold waiting for us. Oh, if these were but real tokens, and not false presentiments! It was bitter to see all this aspect of happiness, and to know how little happiness there was. My husband greeted Mr. Osborne with surprise and pleasure. Flora ran up-stairs, and I went into the drawing-room with our new guest, though, in my heart, I longed to be with baby, from whom I never had been so long absent before. My husband came with us, though he and I scarcely said anything to each other. I could see how Mr. Osborne's acute eye watched what terms we were on. Then Edgar left us to make some arrangements for our visitor's comfort, and my old friend turned his full attention upon me. I had taken off my mantle, and he saw the miniature at my neck. In a kindly, fatherly fashion he caught the little chain with his finger, and drew me nearer to him, and looked into my face. I could not meet his eye. I drooped my head under his gaze, and, in spite of myself, the tears came. "Well, Hester," he said gently, and in his old kind, half-sarcastic tone, "now that you have experience of it, what do you think of life?" "It is very hard," said I, under my breath. "Ay, that is the first lesson we all learn," he said; "have you not got beyond this alphabet--is it only hard, and nothing more?"