It was strange to think of, but not altogether sad from Anna's point of view, for her father was almost a stranger to her. He lived a life apart, into which she had never entered: his friends, his business, his frequent journeys abroad, occupied him fully, and he was quite content that Anna's welfare should be left in the hands of Miss Milverton, her daily governess. It was Aunt Sarah who recommended Miss Milverton to the post, which she had now filled, with ceaseless kindness and devotion, for seven years. "You will find her invaluable," Mrs Forrest had said to her brother-in-law, and so she was. When Anna was ill, she nursed her; when she wanted change of air, she took her to the sea-side; she looked after her both in body and mind, with the utmost conscientiousness. But there was one thing she could not do: she could not be an amusing companion for a girl of fifteen, and Anna had often been lonely and dull. Now that was all over. A sudden change had come into her life. The London house was to be given up, her father was going away, and she was to be committed to Aunt Sarah's instruction and care for two whole years. Waverley and Aunt Sarah, instead of London and Miss Milverton! It was a change indeed, in more than one way, for although Anna was nearly fifteen, she had never yet stayed in the country; her ideas of it were gathered from books, and from what she could see from a railway carriage, as Miss Milverton and she were carried swiftly on their way to the sea-side for their annual change of air. She thought of it all now, as she sat musing in the old brown chair. It had often seemed strange that Aunt Sarah, who arranged everything, and to whom appeal was always made in matters which concerned Anna, should never have asked her to stay at Waverley before. Certainly there were no children at the Rectory, but still it would have been natural, she thought, for was not Uncle John her father's own brother, and she had never even seen him! Aunt Sarah came to London occasionally and stayed the night, and had long talks with Mr Forrest and Miss Milverton, but she had never hinted at a visit from Anna. When, a little later, her father came bustling in, with a preoccupied pucker on his brow, and his most absent manner, she almost gave up all idea of asking questions. Dinner passed in perfect silence, and she was startled when Mr Forrest suddenly mentioned the very place that was in her mind. "Well, Anna," he said, "I've been to Waverley to-day." "Oh, father, have you?" she answered eagerly. Mr Forrest sipped his wine reflectively. "How old are you?" he asked. "Fifteen next August," replied Anna. "Then," he continued, half to himself, "it must be over sixteen years since I saw Waverley and Dornton." "Are they just the same?" asked his daughter; "are they pretty places?" "Waverley's pretty enough. Your Uncle John has built another room, and spoilt the look of the old house, but that's the only change I can see."