Mrs. Challoner turned eastward with flying feet. Her one thought now was, that at any cost this thing must be done. She felt herself like a frail little ship which has but to get the wind behind it to speedily reach its desired haven. Only she had got to steer it! If it were wrecked, the fault would lie with her, and with her only. It is something to have ever gone through such an hour of glorious life. Henceforth, come what may, we know the secret of the faith which “can remove mountains.” We know too that the great will of the universe is with all things good and glad and hopeful, though we may fail to set our little vessels where they can catch its current, or though they may come to disaster on other vessels already foundered. Still, she had another visit to make ere she went back to the little house with the verandah. This time she paused at a great house in one of the more important Bloomsbury squares. On its portal it bore the sign of “St. George’s Institute of Arts and Languages.” She was admitted with smiles, for of old she had been familiar there. She stayed inside fully half an hour. When she came out her face was not less glad, but it was grave and set, as that of a sailor whose hand is already on the wheel. She had one more interruption of her homeward journey. She was not far from Pelham Street, when she was suddenly greeted by a short, plump lady richly dressed. “Why, Lucy, you are so absorbed that I believe you would have passed me, your very own sister!” cried the stranger. They shook hands heartily. “Have you been calling at our place?” asked Mrs. Challoner. “Didn’t Pollie invite you to await my return? She knew I would not be much later than this.” “Oh, yes, she asked me to wait. ‘Her mistress would not like to miss Mrs. Brand,’” said the lady, evidently mimicking Pollie’s tone. “She was civil enough. I did sit down for a few minutes; but, as it was plain there was some cast-iron rule against my getting upstairs to see Charlie——” Mrs. Challoner interrupted. “I had told her no visitors were to be admitted during my absence,” she said, “and she knows that when I am at home I allow nobody to go upstairs, not even Charlie’s great chum, Wilfrid Somerset, without my going too. Charlie is so lively and energetic that unless I am there to intervene and put on the brake, he would take to delivering orations, and then in a moment all that he has regained might be lost.” “Well, I thought you might have made an exception of me,” remarked Mrs. Brand. “You might have credited me with some sense, seeing that I am your own sister—your only relative in London; it seemed hard to find myself shut out by a servant.”