'When did you come back?' I asked, bewildered. 'Why did you not write and tell me you were coming?' 'Oh, it was decided all in a hurry. The Maberleys heard that their daughter, Mrs. Egerton, would arrive in England this week, a whole month before they expected her, so they have gone down to Southampton, and left me to find my way home alone. I arrived last night, much to Giles's astonishment. You know Dora is their only surviving child, and she has been in India the last five years. She is bringing her two boys home.' 'Last night. Then you did not get my letter?' 'No; but it will follow me. How good you have been to write so often, Ursula! I have quite lived on your letters.' 'Let me see how you look,' was my answer to this; and indeed I thought she had never looked more beautiful. There was a lovely colour in her face, and she seemed bright and animated, though I could not deny that she was still very thin. 'You have not grown fatter,' I went on, pretending to grumble; 'you are still too transparent, in my opinion; but Jill's snow-maiden has a little life in her.' 'Does Jill call me that?' she returned, in some surprise. 'Oh, I am quite well: even Giles says so. He declares he is glad to have me back, and poor little Lady Betty quite cried with joy. It was nice, after all, coming home.' 'I am so glad to hear you say that.' 'Etta is away, you know: that makes the difference. Gladwyn never seemed so homelike before. By the bye, Ursula, Giles has sent you a message; he--no, we all three, want you to spend a long evening with us to-morrow. He has been called away to Brighton, and will not be back until mid-day; but we all three agreed that it would be so nice if you came early in the afternoon, and we would have tea in the little oak avenue. Etta never cares about these _al fresco_ meals, she is so afraid of spiders and caterpillars; but Lady Betty and I delight in it.' I wish Jill could have heard Gladys talk in this bright, natural way. I am sure she would not have recognised her snow-maiden. There was no weary constraint in her manner to-night, no heavy pressure of unnatural care on her young brow: she seemed too happy to see me again to think of herself at all. When we had talked a little more I began to approach the subject of Eric very gradually. At my first word her cheek paled, and the old wistfulness came to her eyes. 'What of Eric?' she asked quickly. 'You look a little strange, Ursula. Do not be afraid of speaking his name: he is never out of my thoughts, waking or sleeping.' I told her that I knew this, but that I had something very singular to narrate, which I feared might excite and disappoint her, but that I could assure her of the certainty that he was alive and well. She clasped her hands almost convulsively together, and looked at me imploringly. 'Only tell me that, and I can bear everything else,' she exclaimed.