“I begin to feel that we may expect to keep our next Christmas together,” wrote Charlie, “and I dared hardly form that hope while my return within that time lay wholly with a sailing-vessel, on which I find two or three weeks ‘more or less’ are matters of no account whatever. Now, little woman, you and I must prepare for one more long silence. We may touch at some of the islands of the North Pacific, and then you shall get a missive; but again we may not, and then your next letter will hail from Vancouver, and I myself shall arrive on the back of it—like a postscript! I don’t need to ask you to let me have letters waiting at Vancouver. Write there regularly whenever you feel inclined to have a chat with your old man, and then, whether I arrive sooner or later, I shall have a nice sequence of sweet letters to keep me company on my lonely rush across North America and the Atlantic. Remember, my wifie, that before you receive this, the distance between us will be actually lessening day by day. Here’s to our happy meeting hour! And God bless my brave little wife!” Of course Lucy’s heart rose high. The worst was now over, and in the glow of renewed joy she began to think it had not been so very bad. As by magic the weariness and weight dropped from her feet, her voice recovered its full, rich timbre, her eyes shone with fresh light. She said to herself that she had not been overworn or ill after all—“only anxious and depressed.” And now what she had to do was to banish the thin wanness of her face before Charlie came home. As for the silvery hairs—they must stay. But she said to herself that there is beauty in silvery hairs, and she was not at all sorry to stand proven as no longer girl or bride, but as woman and matron, with every right to think and to act for herself and for others. She was still going cheerily in the light cast by Charlie’s letter, and though she had already eagerly written to Vancouver, she had not begun to feel the damping effect of the inevitable silence of the North Pacific, when an epistle came from Florence. “DEAREST LU,—I am home from my visits, and am very busy packing us all off for Scarborough. Can’t get round to see you at any hours I am likely to find you in Pelham Street.” (She had quite forgotten the holidays!) “Won’t you come over to me here? Please, do! Come to-morrow, as early as you can in the afternoon, and stay to dinner and for the evening. Please wire reply. We expect only one or two friends. The change will do you good. I don’t invite Hugh too, because I want you to stay, and I know you wouldn’t keep him out in the night air. Surely you can leave him at home _for once_! And do remember I’m your only sister, and have got such a lot of things to show you. I’ve told Jem I’m writing to you; _don’t_ let him say you pay no attention to my invitations! (He has said that—Jem can be nasty sometimes, though he’s always so polite to you!) _Do come!_