"I do--so--want to be your little girl," answered Tessa with a break in her voice. "I never really prayed for anything before--only the things Aunt Mary made me say--and they weren't what I wanted. But I do want this. And I believe I'd get quite good if I was your little girl. I told God so, but I don't think He cared." "Yes. He did care, darling." Very softly Bernard reassured her. "Don't you think that ever! He is going to answer that prayer of yours--pretty soon now." "Oh, is He?" said Tessa, brightening. "How do you know? Is He going to say Yes?" "I think so." Bernard's voice and touch were alike motherly. "But you must be patient a little longer, my princess of the bluebell. It isn't good for us to have things straight off when we want them." "You do want me?" insinuated Tessa, squeezing his neck very hard. "Yes. I want you very much," he said. "I love you," said Tessa with passionate warmth, "better--yes, better now than even Uncle Everard. And I didn't think I ever could do that." "God bless you, little one!" he said. Later, when Major Ralston had seen her again, they had another conference. The doctor's suspicions were fully justified. Tessa would need the utmost care. "She shall have it," Bernard said. "But--I can't leave Stella now. I shall see my way clearer presently." "Quite so," Ralston agreed. "My wife shall look after the child at Bhulwana. It will keep her quiet." He gave Bernard a shrewd look. "Perhaps you--and Mrs. Monck also--will be on your way Home before the hot weather," he said. "In that case she could go with you." Bernard was silent. It was impossible to look forward. One thing was certain. He could not desert Stella. Ralston passed on. Being reticent himself he respected a man who could keep his own counsel. "What about Mrs. Ermsted?" he said. "When will you see her?" "To-night," said Bernard, setting his jaw. Ralston smiled briefly. That look recalled his brother. "No time like the present," he said. But the time for consultation with Netta Ermsted upon the future of her child was already past. When Bernard, very firm and purposeful, walked down again after dinner that night, Ralston met him with a wry expression and put a crumpled note into his hand. "Mrs. Ermsted has apparently divined your benevolent intentions," he said. Bernard read in silence, with meeting brows. DEAR MARY: This is to wish you and all kind friends good-bye. So that there may be no misunderstanding on the part of our charitable gossips, pray tell them at once that I have finally chosen the broad road as it really suits me best. As for Tessa--I bequeath her and her little morals to the first busybody who cares to apply for them. Perhaps the worthy Father Monck would like to acquire virtue in this fashion. I find the task only breeds vice in me. Many thanks for your laborious and, I fear, wholly futile attempts to keep me in the much too narrow way. Yours, NETTA.