On my road to the station I met the Crown Anstey carriage.  Mrs Trevelyan bowed to me from it.  She was taking a drive with the little Sir Rupert.

“God bless the child!” I said, as his little face smiled from the carriage window.  “God bless him and send him a happy life!”

It took me some little time to settle down to my new life.  My employer, Lord Winter, lived in the Champs Elysees.  He preferred Paris to England, because it was brighter and gayer.  I often wondered how that mattered to him, for he lived only in his books.

I was required to assist him in making extracts, answering letters, searching for all kinds of odd information, and I do believe I learned more in that time than I should have done in a lifetime differently spent.

I became reconciled to it after a hard struggle.  From Harden Manor I constantly received the kindest letters.  Agatha wrote to me, and although the word “love” seldom occurred in her letters, I knew her heart was, and always would be mine.  She would never forget me, nor would that crown of all sorrows be mine—­I should never have to give her up to a wealthier rival.  Although she said nothing of the kind in her letters, I felt that it was true.

A year passed, and at last came good tidings of my sister; she was able to sit up, even to walk across the room, and the doctor said that in another month she would in all probability be able to take her place in the world again.

How that gladdened my heart!  Lady Thesiger said she had not the least idea yet of the change in my fortunes, although she wondered incessantly why I was absent.

“Have no fear for your sister’s future,” wrote kind Lady Thesiger.  “While Agatha lives at home she is a most charming companion for her.  Should she ever leave home, she would be the same to me.  We shall only be too happy if she will spend the rest of her life at Harden Manor.”

I was grateful for that.  Now, then, fate seemed kinder.  I could fight through for myself, providing that my fragile, delicate Clare was safely taken care of.

Another six months passed.  Clare knew all then and was resigned.  God had been very good to her.  She could walk; distance did not fatigue her, and the doctors thought it was very unlikely that the same disease would attack her again.

She wrote and told me about it.

“I was out yesterday,” she said, “with Agatha, and we met the Crown Anstey carriage.  Coralie was most gracious—­overwhelmed me with congratulations, invited me to the Hall.  And I saw little Sir Rupert.  He is so bright and beautiful—­the most princely boy I ever beheld.  ’I am going to have a white pony,’ he said to me, and I kissed him, Edgar, with all my heart.  Coralie inquired very minutely after you, and asked me if I owed her any ill-will for what she had done.  I said no, not in the least, and that I hoped little Sir Rupert would live to make her very happy.  I am not quite sure, but I think there were tears glistening in her eyes when she drove away.”