anxious to see both her aunt and her own home, and set out, leaning
on Rachel's arm, and smiling pleased though sad recognition of the
esplanade, the pebbly beach, bathing machines and fishing boats, and
pointing them out to her sons, who, on their side, would only talk of
the much greater extent of Melbourne.

Within the gates of the Homestead, there was a steep, sharp bit of
road, cut out in the red sandstone rock, and after a few paces she
paused to rest with a sigh that brought Conrade to her side, when she
put her arm round his neck, and leant on his shoulder; but even her
two supporters could not prevent her from looking pale and exhausted.

"Never mind," she said, "this salt wind is delightful. How like old
times it is!" and she stood gazing across the little steep lawn at
the grey sea, the line of houses following the curve of the bay, and
straggling up the valley in the rear, and the purple headlands
projecting point beyond point, showing them to her boys, and telling
their names.

"It is all ugly and cold," said Francis, with an ungracious shiver.
"I shall go home to Melbourne when I'm a man."

"And you will come, mamma?" added Conrade.

He had no answer, for Fanny was in her aunt's arms; and, like mother
and daughter, they clung to each other--more able to sympathize, more
truly one together, than the young widow could be with either of the
girls.

As soon as Fanny had rested and enjoyed the home atmosphere