bitter weeping. The little matron let her weep for a while; then she
released herself, and wiped away her own tears and those of her tall
darling, which had fallen on her smooth grey hair. She took Paula's chin
in a firm hand and turned her face towards her own, saying tenderly but
decidedly: "There, that is enough. You might cry and welcome, for it
eases the heart, but that it is so late. Is it the old story: home-
sickness, annoyances, and so forth, or is there anything new?"

"Alas, indeed!" replied the girl. She pressed her handkerchief in her
hands as she went on with excited vehemence: "I am in the last extremity,
I can bear it no longer, I cannot--I cannot! I am no longer a child, and
when in the evening you dread the night and in the morning dread the day
which must be so wretched, so utterly unendurable. . . ."

"Then you listen to reason, my darling, and say to yourself that of two
evils it is wise to choose the lesser. You must hear me say once more
what I have so often represented to you before now: If we renounce our
city of refuge here and venture out into the wide world again, what shall
we find that will be an improvement?"

"Perhaps nothing but a hovel by a well under a couple of palm-trees; that
would satisfy me, if I only had you and could be free--free from every
one else!"

"What is this; what does this mean?" muttered the elder woman shaking
her head. "You were quite content only the day before yesterday.
Something must have. . . ."

"Yes, must have happened and has," interrupted the girl almost beside
herself. "My uncle's son.--You were there when he arrived--and I