and smiling indifference,
was of all things the most exasperating. If she had blazed in anger,
even to the extent of facing an occasional battle royal, the corroding
bitterness would have found a vent, and reconciliation opened the way to
fresh tenderness.

"It's my fault as much as his!" Cassandra acknowledged, and the
admission softened her heart.

The old Mater did not die. The critical days dragged slowly past, and
she grimly held her own. In all human probability she would live on for
months, for years, until the lightning fell for the third time. To
Cassandra such a recovery seemed a piteous thing, but the Squire's
rejoicings were whole-hearted, and the old Mater herself wore an air of
triumph. Apparently life was dear to her still, and the prospect of
lying in bed, with one half of her body already dead, held more
attractions than the celestial choirs on which she pinned her faith.
There was a grim irony in hearing the twisted lips murmur fragments of
her favourite hymn--"Oh, Lamb of God, I come!" and Cassandra's sense of
humour could not resist the reflection that the old lady was exceedingly
loath to go!

Grizel wrote that she had given Dane the necessary explanation, and
after four days' incessant consideration, Cassandra wrote and despatched
the following letter:

"I was coming to you, as I promised; I had counted every moment of every
day as it passed, longing for the time to arrive; in another minute I
should have been on my way, and then,--what was it?--fate, chance,
providence, God?--_Something_ intervened, and it became impossible for
me to meet you, then, or later. I don't know how long we shall be here.
My husband's mother is recovering, but she cannot bear him out of her
sight. He is an angel of goodness to her, and in some wonderful way
seems to be able to lend her some of his own strength. We may be here
for months; it will certainly be many weeks; so I can't come, Dane, I
can't have the one joy I longed for... the one more hour together,
before we said good-bye!

"It may be for the best. I may look back in years to come, and be
thankful, but I'm not thankful now. It seems hard, and cruel, and
unjust, that I could not have that little hour, and it made it harder,
being so near. Oh, Dane, that journey! Can you for a moment imagine
how desperately, achingly miserable I was, steaming farther and farther
away with every moment; thinking of you sitting waiting! I wonder what
you tho