edge that she is much weaker, because she will not disturb my
happiness.'

Jocelyn was in a mood to let trifles of manner pass, and he took no
notice of the effort which had accompanied the last word. They went
upstairs to Mrs. Pierston, whose obvious relief and thankfulness at
sight of him was grateful to her visitor.

'I am so, O so glad you are come!' she said huskily, as she held out her
thin hand and stifled a sob. 'I have been so--'

She could get no further for a moment, and Avice turned away weeping,
and abruptly left the room.

'I have so set my heart on this,' Mrs. Pierston went on, 'that I have
not been able to sleep of late, for I have feared I might drop off
suddenly before she is yours, and lose the comfort of seeing you
actually united. Your being so kind to me in old times has made me so
sure that she will find a good husband in you, that I am over anxious, I
know. Indeed, I have not liked to let her know quite how anxious I am.'

Thus they talked till Jocelyn bade her goodnight, it being noticeable
that Mrs. Pierston, chastened by her illnesses, maintained no longer
any reserve on her gladness to acquire him as her son-in-law; and
her feelings destroyed any remaining scruples he might have had from
perceiving that Avice's consent was rather an obedience than a desire.
As he went downstairs, and found Avice awaiting his descent, he wondered
if anything had occurred here during his absence to give Mrs. Pierston
new uneasiness about the marriage, but it was an inquiry he could
not address to a girl whose actions could alone be the cause of such
uneasiness.

He looked round for her as he supped, but though she had come into the
room with him she was not there now. He remembered her telling him that
she had had supper with her mother, and Jocelyn sat on quietly musing
and sipping his wine for something near half-an-hour. Wondering then
for the first time what had become of her, he rose and went to the door.
Avice was quite near him after all--only standing at the front door
as she had been doing when he came, looking into the light of the full
moon, which had risen since his arrival. His sudden opening of the
dining-room door seemed to agitate her.

'What is it, dear?' he asked.

'As mother is much better and doesn't want me, I ought to go and see
somebody I promised to take a parcel to--I feel I ought. And yet, as you
have just come to see me--I suppose you don't approve of my going out
while you