"Of course he is sorry, Aunty. How could he help it? Do you suppose he
is a brute? Do you suppose he hasn't ordinary human feeling? Why do you
treat him so?"

Hope asked the question almost fiercely.

Mrs. Simcoe sat profoundly still, and said nothing. Her face seemed to
grow even more rigid as she sat. But suddenly turning to the proud young
girl who stood at her side, her bosom heaving with passion, she drew her
toward her by both hands, pulled her face down close to hers, and kissed
her.

Hope sank on her knees by the side of Mrs. Simcoe's chair. All the pride
in her heart was melted, and poured out of her eyes. She buried her face
upon Mrs. Simcoe's shoulder, and her passion wept and sobbed itself away.
She did not understand what it was, nor why. A little while before, upon
the lawn, she had been so happy. Now it seemed as if her heart were
breaking. When she grew calmer, Mrs. Simcoe, holding the fair face
between her hands, and tenderly kissing it once more, said, slowly,

"Hope, my child, we must all walk the path alone. But you, too, will
learn that our human affections are but tents of a night."

"Aunty, Aunty, what do you mean?" asked Hope, who had risen as the other
was speaking, and now stood beside her, pale and proud.

"I mean, Hope, that you are in love with Abel Newt."

Hope's hands dropped by her side. She stepped back a little. A feeling of
inexpressible solitude fell upon her--of alienation from her grandfather,