one to whom she cared to go for advice concerning her father's widow.
They had one and all disapproved, she knew, of the sudden second
marriage and Dr. Coombe had never quite forgiven their disapproval.

Often she felt like refusing the responsibility altogether. After all,
her step-mother was a woman quite old enough to manage her own affairs.
If she wished to foolishly imperil her health why need Esther care? Why
indeed? But this train of reasoning never lasted long. Always there came
a counter-question, "If you do not care, who will?" And the dearth of
any answer settled the burden more firmly upon her rebellious shoulders.
For one thing there was always the inner knowledge that Mary Coombe was
weak and that she, Esther, was strong. She had always known this. Even
when her father had brought home his pretty bride and Esther, a shy,
silent child of eleven, had welcomed her, she had known that the
newcomer was the weaker spirit. The bride had known it too. She had
never attempted to control Esther, leaving the child entirely to her
father--a bit of unwitting wisdom which did much to smooth daily life
at the Elms. If the doctor saw his wife's weakness of character it is
probable that it did not interfere with his love for her. Why need she
be strong while he was strong enough for two? But he had forgotten one
thing--the day when she would have to be strong alone!

The realisation came to him upon his death-bed. Esther was sure of this.
He could not speak, but she had read the message of his eyes, the appeal
to the strength in her to help the other's weakness. No getting away
from the solemn charge of that entreating look!

* * * * *

Esther was thinking of that look now, as she sat alone in the dusk of