garden, and there were laurel and other evergreen shrubs in it, and a few
China asters--white, red, and purple--still blooming. No sound came to
her at that quiet back window, except the loud glad chirruping of the
sparrows that had their home there. How still and peaceful it seemed! The
pale October sunshine--pale, but never had sunshine seemed so divine, so
like a glory shining on earth from the far heavenly throne--fell lighting
up the dark leaves of ivy and laurel, stiff and green and motionless as
if cut out of malachite, and the splendid red and purple shields of the
asters; and filling the little dun-coloured birds with such joy that
their loud chirping grew to a kind of ringing melody.

Oh, that dark forsaken room in Moon Street, full of bitter memories of
miserable years! Oh, poor dead mother lying for ever silent and cold in
the dark earth! Oh, poor world-weary woman in Dudley Grove, and all the
countless thousands that lived toiling, hungry, hopeless lives in squalid
London tenements--why had she, Fan, been so favoured as to be carried
away from it all into this sweet restful place? Why--why? Then, even
while she asked, wondering, thinking that it was all like a strange
beautiful dream, unable yet to realise it, suddenly as by inspiration the
meaning of the words Miss Starbrow had spoken to her flashed into her
mind; and the thought made her tremble, the blood rushed to her face, and
she felt her eyes growing dim with tears of joy. Was it true, could it be
true, that this proud, beautiful lady--how much more beautiful now to
Fan's mind than all other women!--really loved her, and that to be loved
was all she desired in return? She was on her knees on the sofa, her arms
resting on the window-sill, and forgetful now of the sunshine and leaves
and flowers, and of the birds on the brown twigs talking together in
their glad ringing language, she closed her eyes and resigned herself
wholly to this delicious thought.