t
have come from Fording, for from Fording he would certainly have taken
the train at Lytchett. It was curious, and while he was so thinking he
fell asleep.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A day or two later Miss Joliffe said to Anastasia:

"I think you had a letter from Mr Westray this morning, my dear, had
you not? Did he say anything about his return? Did he say when he was
coming back?"

"No, dear aunt, he said nothing about coming back. He only wrote a few
lines on a matter of business."

"Oh yes, just so," Miss Joliffe said dryly, feeling a little hurt at
what seemed like any lack of confidence on her niece's part.

Miss Joliffe would have said that she knew Anastasia's mind so well that
no secrets were hid from her. Anastasia would have said that her aunt
knew everything except a few _little_ secrets, and, as a matter of fact,
the one perhaps knew as much of the other as it is expedient that age
should know of youth. "The mind is its own place, and in itself can
make a hell of heaven, a heaven of hell." Of all earthly consolations
this is the greatest, that the mind is its own place. The mind is an
impregnable fortress which can be held against all comers, the mind is a
sanctuary open day or night to the pursued, the mind is a flowery
pleasance where shade refreshes even in summer droughts. To some
trusted friend we try to give the clue of the labyrinth, but the ball of
silk is too short to guide any but ourselves along all the way. There
are sunny mountain-tops, there are innocent green arbours, or closes of
too highly-perfumed flowers, or dank dungeons of despair, or guilty
_mycethmi_ black as night, where we walk alone, whither we may lead no
one with us by the hand.

Miss Euphemia Joliffe would have liked to ignore altogether the matter
of Westray's letter, and to have made no further remarks thereon; but
curiosity is in woman a stronger influence than pride, and curiosity
drove her to recur to the letter.

"Thank you, my dear, for explaining about it. I am sure you will tell
me if there are any messages for me in it."

"No, there was no message at all for you, I think," said Anastasia. "I
will get it for you by-and-by, and you shall see all he says;" and with
that she left the room as if to fetch the letter. It was only a
subterfuge, for she felt Westray's correspondence burning a hole in her
pocket all the while; but she was anxious that her aunt should not see
the letter until an answer to