“Well, He has answered the spirit of your prayer. You really wished that things shouldn’t be made any harder for Leslie. I’m afraid that in my secret heart I’ve been hoping the operation wouldn’t succeed, and I am wholesomely ashamed of it.”

“How does Leslie seem to take it?”

“She writes like one dazed. I think that, like ourselves, she hardly realises it yet. She says, ‘It all seems like a strange dream to me, Anne.’ That is the only reference she makes to herself.”

“Poor child! I suppose when the chains are struck off a prisoner he’d feel queer and lost without them for a while. Anne, dearie, here’s a thought keeps coming into my mind. What about Owen Ford? We both know Leslie was fond of him. Did it ever occur to you that he was fond of her?”

“It—did—once,” admitted Anne, feeling that she might say so much.

“Well, I hadn’t any reason to think he was, but it just appeared to me he must be. Now, Anne, dearie, the Lord knows I’m not a match-maker, and I scorn all such doings. But if I were you and writing to that Ford man I’d just mention, casual-like, what has happened. That is what I’d do.”

“Of course I will mention it when I write him,” said Anne, a trifle distantly. Somehow, this was a thing she could not discuss with Miss Cornelia. And yet, she had to admit that the same thought had been lurking in her mind ever since she had heard of