Very different was the tone of the notes which came from Lucy’s sister Florence. Mrs. Brand wrote a large hand, so that a very few words covered four sides of a sheet of note-paper; also she wrote, as it were, breathlessly, dropping pronouns and punctuation. She was very forcible in bewailing her sister’s departure to Deal—“So sudden—and such a place—and didn’t Charlie feel the journey—and it mightn’t be amiss if it turned him aside from the bigger scheme—couldn’t bear to think of it—poor dear Lucy all alone—well, the child, of course—and if for Charlie’s good, but it seemed a great risk—wasn’t beginning to look for a successor for Pollie yet; no good being in hurry—better not hire anyone till a day or two before wanted—and Lucy not coming back to London till the very night before Charlie sailed for the North—who was Captain Grant?—hoped he was a decent man—master mariners not always up to much; but if Charlie kept pretty well, perhaps he would not mind about trifles. Must get word as soon as they were sure of dates—must get last look of Charlie—and had good many evening engagements on. Poor dear Lucy, Florence really pitied—things had looked so different at Lucy’s marriage, but might turn out better, even yet.” As Lucy read those notes, her pulse used to quicken with a sense of revolt. Charlie’s wife was no person to be pitied! Come what might, she was not to be pitied! Her anxieties, her possible sorrows, were not to be regarded as so much ill-luck, to be secretly contrasted by Florence with her own splendid fortune in stalwart, prosperous Jem, and her showy house, and large “visiting circle.” After these rebellious sensations, Lucy always turned penitent—said to herself that she was silly and even wicked, and resolved to allow no such feelings to arise again. But Florence’s next note always stirred them anew. The east wind will ruffle us; we can but turn our backs to it, or veil our faces, and afterwards soothe the irritated skin with emollients. So there are natures which thus rush rudely on our souls. And we cannot change those natures, or their effect upon us; we can only avert the worst results by tact, hide our soreness in silence, and heal damages by patience and forbearance. Let us put our conscious misery to a good use by its keeping us humbly aware that any sweetness or amiability that we may seem to possess belongs, after all, almost as much to our environment as to ourselves! The peaceful resting-time wore to an end. Charlie Challoner and his little boy had made friends with nearly all the Deal “hovellers,” lounging so easily on the shingly shore, watching the sea and the sky, as if there were nothing else to do in life, yet with the strength of scores of conquered storms wrought into their fine old faces. They had heard many stories grave and gay, and little Hugh had gathered up some queer treasures in the way of uncommon shells and stones, and even a little carved boat.