She was early astir, meaning to take the first boat and so escape all disagreeable rencontres, and having kissed the children in their little beds, with tender promises not to forget them, she took a hasty breakfast and stepped into the carriage waiting at the door. The sleepy waiters stared, a friendly housemaid nodded, and Miss Walker, the hearty English lady who did her ten miles a day, cried out, as she tramped by, blooming and bedraggled: “Bless me, are you off?” “Yes, thank Heaven!” answered Christie; but as she spoke Mr. Fletcher came down the steps looking as wan and heavy-eyed as if a sleepless night had been added to his day’s defeat. Leaning in at the window, he asked abruptly, but with a look she never could forget: “Will nothing change your answer, Christie?” “Nothing.” His eyes said, “Forgive me,” but his lips only said, “Good-by,” and the carriage rolled away. Then, being a woman, two great tears fell on the hand still red with the lingering grasp he had given it, and Christie said, as pitifully as if she loved him: “He has got a heart, after all, and perhaps I might have been glad to fill it if he had only shown it to me sooner. Now it is too late.” CHAPTER V. COMPANION. Before she had time to find a new situation, Christie received a note from Miss Tudor, saying that hearing she had left Mrs. Saltonstall she wanted to offer her the place of companion to an invalid girl, where the duties were light and the compensation large. “How kind of her to think of me,” said Christie, gratefully. “I’ll go at once and do my best to secure it, for it must be a good thing or she wouldn’t recommend it.” Away went Christie to the address sent by Miss Tudor, and as she waited at the door she thought: “What a happy family the Carrols must be!” for the house was one of an imposing block in a West End square, which had its own little park where a fountain sparkled in the autumn sunshine, and pretty children played among the fallen leaves. Mrs. Carrol was a stately woman, still beautiful in spite of her fifty years. But though there were few lines on her forehead, few silver threads in the dark hair that lay smoothly over it, and a gracious smile showed the fine teeth, an indescribable expression of unsubmissive sorrow touched the whole face, betraying that life had brought some heavy cross, from which her wealth could purchase no release, for which her pride could find no effectual screen. She looked at Christie with a searching eye, listened attentively when she spoke, and seemed testing her with covert care as if the place she was to fill demanded some unusual gift or skill. “Miss Tudor tells me that you read aloud well, sing sweetly, possess a cheerful temper, and the quiet, patient ways which are peculiarly grateful to an invalid,” began Mrs. Carrol, with that keen yet wistful gaze, and an anxious accent in her voice that went to Christie’s heart.