or this child had
been her ruler. Sitting down by her with circling arms, she pressed her
cheek against Gwendolen's head, and then tried to draw it upward.
Gwendolen gave way, and letting her head rest against her mother, cried
out sobbingly, "Oh, mamma, what can become of my life? there is nothing
worth living for!"

"Why, dear?" said Mrs. Davilow. Usually she herself had been rebuked by
her daughter for involuntary signs of despair.

"I shall never love anybody. I can't love people. I hate them."

"The time will come, dear, the time will come."

Gwendolen was more and more convulsed with sobbing; but putting her
arms round her mother's neck with an almost painful clinging, she said
brokenly, "I can't bear any one to be very near me but you."

Then the mother began to sob, for this spoiled child had never shown
such dependence on her before: and so they clung to each other.

CHAPTER VIII.

What name doth Joy most borrow
When life is fair?
"To-morrow."
What name doth best fit Sorrow
In young despair?
"To-morrow."

There was a much more lasting trouble at the rectory. Rex arrived there
only to throw himself on his bed in a state of apparent apathy,
unbroken till the next day, when it began to be interrupted by more
positive signs of illness. Nothing could be said about his going to
Southampton: instead of that, the chief thought of his mother and Anna
was how to tend this patient who did not want to be well, and from
being the brightest, most grateful spirit in the household, was
metamorphosed into an irresponsive, dull-eyed creature who met all
affectionate attempts with a murmur of "Let me alone." His father
looked beyond the crisis, and believed it to be the shortest way out of
an unlucky affair; but he was sorry for the inevitable suffering, and
went now and then to sit by him in silence for a few minutes, parting
with a gentle pressure of his hand on Rex's blank brow, and a "God
bless you, my boy." Warham and the younger children used to peep round
the edge of the door to see this incredible thing of their lively
brother being laid low; but fingers were immediately shaken at them to
drive them back. The guardian who was always there was Anna, and her
little hand was allowed to rest within her brother's, though he never
gave it a welcoming pressure. Her soul was divided between anguish for
Rex and reproach of Gwendolen.

"Perhaps it is wicked of me