Everything will remind me of those sweet spring days two years ago.

Oh, those walks and rides, and the evening when we listened to the nightingale and he told me that he loved me! I remember the very patch of grass where I stood.

There was a little clump of alders, and I can see how he looked then.

Oh, Ursula, these memories are very sad, but they are sweet, too; for Charlie is our Charlie still, is he not ?' 'Poor Lesbia!' I sighed, as I folded up her letter and prepared for my day's work.

'It must be hard for her to witness Sara's happiness, when her own life is so clouded.