saying plainly and humbly: "All we have is owing to
her." Arabella spoke of Emilia likewise, but with a shade of the foregone
tone of patronage. "She will always be our dear little sister." Adela
continued silent, as with ears awake for the opening of a door. Was it in
ever-thwarted anticipation of the coming of Sir Twickenham?

Merthyr's inquiry after Wilfrid produced a momentary hesitation on
Cornelia's Part--"He has gone to Verona. We have an uncle in the Austrian
service," she said; and Merthyr bowed.

What was this tale of Emilia, that grew more and more perplexing as he
heard it bit by bit? The explanation awaited him at Richford. There, when
Georgiana had clasped her brother in one last jealous embrace, she gave
him the following letter straightway, to save him, haply, from the false
shame of that eager demand for one, which she saw ready to leap to words
in his eyes. He read it, sitting in the Richford library alone, while the
great rhododendron bloomed outside, above the shaven sunny sward, looking
like a monstrous tropic bird alighted to brood an hour in full sunlight.

"My Friend!"

"I would say my Beloved! I will not write it, for it would be false. I
have read of the defeat. Why was a battle risked at that cruel place!
Here are we to be again for so many years before we can win God to be on
our side! And I--do you not know? we used to talk of it!--I never can
think it the Devil who has got the upper hand. What succeeds, I always
think should succeed--was meant to, because the sky looks clear over it.
This knocks a blow at my heart and keeps it silent and only just beating.
I feel that you are safe. That, I am thankful for. If you were not, God
would warn me, and not let me mock him with thanks when I pray. I pray
till my eyelids burn, on purpose to get a warning if there is any black
messenger to be sent to me. I do not believe it.

"For three years I am a prisoner. I go to the Conservatorio in Milan with
Mr. Pericles, and my poor little mother, who cries, asking me where she
will be among such a people, until I wonder she should be my mother. My
voice has returned. Oh, Merthyr! my dear, calm friend! to keep calling
you friend, and friend, puts me to sleep softly!--Yes, I have my voice. I
felt I had it, like some one in a room with us when we will not open our
eyes. There was misery everywhere, and yet I was glad. I kept it secret.
I began to feel myself above the world. I dreamed of what I would do for