Once, long ago, this queer, dried-up old man had a young daughter, a daughter whom he loved very passionately, but who died just when she was grown up. The girl had been tall and slender, like Priscilla, and strangely unworldly and fond of books, and, as the old man described it, good at star-gazing. He did not know why the memory of Esther, who had been in her grave for so many years, returned to him now. But, be that as it may, Priscilla, without being exactly like Esther, gave him back thoughts of his daughter, and because of that he felt inclined to be kind to the lonely girl. So, changing his seat which he had taken at the farther end of the carriage, he placed himself opposite to her and said in a voice which she scarcely recognised: "Cheer up now, won't you? There is no good in fretting." Priscilla was startled at the kindness of the tone. It shook her out of a dream. She turned her intensely sorrowful eyes full upon Mr Manchuri and said: "I shall get over my disappointment, I am sure; please don't take any notice of me." "But, come now," said Mr Manchuri, "what are you fretting about? You are going home, I understand." "Oh no, I am not," said Priscilla; "I am going back to school." "Oh, so you are a schoolgirl?" "Yes, sir." "How old are you, my dear?" "I am nearly seventeen," said Priscilla. Now Esther had been nearly seventeen when she died; she was not _quite_ seventeen. Mr Manchuri felt glad that Priscilla was not quite seventeen. "I thought of course, you were going home," he said--"that perhaps you had some one who wanted you very much. Why should you, I wonder, leave Lady Lushington's party?" "There was not room for all of us at the hotel at Zermatt, so I am going back to England." "But why you?" said Mr Manchuri. He felt quite angry. How furious he would have been if any one had treated his Esther like that!--and this girl had a voice very like Esther's. "Why you? Why should this be your lot?" "Oh, I don't know," said Priscilla. "Some one had to do it." "I see; that little Annie Brooke would not go, for instance--not she; she is far too clever." "She offered to go," said Priscilla, who would not allow even Annie to appear at a disadvantage. Mr Manchuri laughed. "There is a way of offering, isn't there, Miss--Forgive me, my dear; I have not caught your name. What is it?" "Priscilla Weir." "I like the name of Priscilla; it is so quaint and old-fashioned. Do you know that I once had a girl called Esther. She was my only child. That is a quaint name too, if you like. Don't you think so? Don't you think that Esther is a very pretty name?" "Very," said Priscilla. "It is a beautiful name," she added; "and that story about Queen Esther is so, _so_ lovely!" "Isn't it?" said Mr Manchuri. "And my girl was like her--a sort of queenly way about her. Do you know, miss--you don't mind if I call you Priscilla?" "Please do," said Priscilla.