All this was changed, however, when this lady, spending a quiet summer at a Swiss hotel, met Colonel Desmond, who had just returned from India, and who was trying to restore his broken health at the same tranquil spot. Colonel Desmond was attracted by the lady's calm, sweet face, and before long he had told her his story, how he had lost his wife just thirteen years ago, and how she had left him with one little girl, Helen, for whose sake principally he had returned from India, and from whom he was now parted for the first time. He found his listener singularly sympathetic, and not at all disposed to be impatient over his long tale of doubts and difficulties, chiefly concerning Helen, round whom nearly all her father's thoughts centred at this period. The end of this pleasant friendship may be guessed. Colonel Desmond's liking for his new friend quickly changed to something deeper, to which she responded. After that they soon came to a mutual understanding, and it came about so quickly, and yet so naturally, that their fellow-guests at the hotel were more fluttered than those chiefly concerned when, one fine morning, this middle-aged couple were quietly married at the little English church, and then as quietly went away together. This happened a few months before our story opens. Upon the intervening time it is needless to dwell. Helen's feelings may be better imagined than described when, one day, without a word of warning, her father walked into the drawing-room of the pleasant, unruly household where she was temporarily located, and where she was, at that particular moment, engaged in teaching some untidy-looking children to sit monkey-wise upon the ground like her ayah, and, rather hastily unclasping the clinging arms which his little daughter had flung round his neck, he presented to her the gentle-looking lady who stood by his side as her new mother. A stormy scene had ensued, during which Helen certainly behaved abominably, stamping her feet and using some very strong language, luckily expressed in Hindustani, of which tongue Mrs. Desmond was blissfully ignorant. But she witnessed the passion, she recognized the undutiful conduct, and her heart sank within her at the prospect that opened before her. This was by no means the ideal little daughter over whom her gentle heart had yearned, and to whom she had meant to perform a true mother's part. As she looked and listened her feelings hardened, as the feelings of seemingly gentle people will harden sometimes, and she told herself that this was a child who could not be won, but who might be disciplined.