m what the cautiously expressed message
in the telegram really meant.

But one idea seemed to be impressed on Mr. Gallilee's mind--the idea of
reconciliation. He insisted on seeing his wife. It was in vain to
tell him that she was utterly incapable of reciprocating or even of
understanding his wishes. Absolute resistance was the one alternative
left--and it was followed by distressing results. The kind-hearted old
man burst into a fit of crying, which even shook the resolution of the
doctors. One of them went upstairs to warn the nurses. The other said,
"Let him see her."

The instant he showed himself in the room, Mrs. Gallilee recognised him
with a shriek of fury. The nurses held her back--while Mr. Mool dragged
him out again, and shut the door. The object of the doctors had been
gained. His own eyes had convinced him of the terrible necessity of
placing his wife under restraint. She was removed to a private asylum.

Maria and Zo had been left in Scotland--as perfectly happy as girls
could be, in the society of their cousins, and under the affectionate
care of their aunt. Mr. Gallilee remained in London; but he was not left
alone in the deserted house. The good lawyer had a spare room at
his disposal; and Mrs. Mool and her daughters received him with true
sympathy. Coming events helped to steady his mind. He was comforted
in the anticipation of Ovid's return, and interested in hearing of the
generous motive which had led Miss Minerva to meet his stepson.

"I never agreed with the others when they used to abuse our governess,"
he said. "She might have been quick-tempered, and she might have been
ugly--I suppose I saw her in some other light myself." He had truly seen
her under another light. In his simple affectionate nature, there had
been instinctive recognition of that great heart.

He was allowed to see Carmina, in the hope that pleasant associations
connected with him might have a favourable influence. She smiled
faintly, and gave him her hand when she saw him at the bedside--but that
was all.

Too deeply distressed to ask to see her again, he made his inquiries for
the future at the door. Day after day, the answer was always the same.

Before she left London, Miss Minerva had taken it on herself to engage
the vacant rooms, on the ground floor of the lodging-house, for Ovid.
She knew his heart, as she knew her own heart. Once under the same roof
with Carmina, he would leave it no more--until life gave her b