"And now there is no telling when we shall all be together again!" said Helen. "I could not have believed that such a disappointment was in store for me."
"I hope you will never know a worse one," remarked Claire. "But if we live, we must meet again some day. We are too good friends to suffer such trifles as time and space to separate us always."
"But you are going so far away, one cannot tell when or where that meeting will be," said Helen, still mournfully.
"Perhaps it may be when Marion has made her fortune, and asks us to visit her castle," answered Claire. "Marion, have you formed any plans as to where it is to be situated? Marion, don't you hear?"
"What is it?" asked Marion, starting. "I beg your pardon, but I was thinking. Did you say, Claire, that this visit, which you could not make, would have been a rest before the combat to you? I was wondering if it will be a rest to me or a beginning."
She spoke half dreamily, and neither of the others answered. They only stood with the sunset glow falling on their fair young faces, their wistful gaze resting upon each other, and quite silent, until a bell pealed softly out on the twilight air, and their last school-day ended forever.
CHAPTER I.
There is nothing specially attractive about Scarborough—a town which nestles among green hills near the foot of the Blue Ridge,—except its salubrious and delightful climate, which has long drawn summer visitors from the lower malarial country; but if it had been as beautiful as Naples or as far-famed as Venice, it could not have wakened more loving delight than that which shone in Helen Morley's eyes as she drew near it. For that deeply-rooted attachment to familiar scenes—to those aspects of nature on which the eyes first opened, and which to the child are like the face of another mother—was as strong in her as it is in most people of affectionate character. For several miles before the train reached Scarborough, she was calling Marion's attention to one familiar landmark after another; and when finally they stopped at the station on the outskirts of the town, her eagerness knew no bounds.
"Come, Marion; here we are!" she cried, springing up hastily. But at that moment the car was burst open by a tall young man, who entered, followed by two small boys, upon all three of whom, as it seemed to Marion, Helen, with a glad little cry, precipitated herself. There were embraces, kisses, inquiries for a moment; then the young man turned and held out his hand, saying, "This is Miss Lynde, I am sure?"