s forth."

Time brought the rumour sooner than James Ellis suspected, for while he
was having his interview with Mrs Mostyn, the story had floated to the
cottage, where Mary heard it whispered to her mother than John Grange
had wandered away from his lodgings one night, and, either by accident
from his blindness, or in despair on account of his affliction, he had
walked into the river, or some pool, and been drowned; for though plenty
of inquiries had been made, he had not since been seen.

"Good-bye--good-bye for ever." Those words she had heard that night as
she sat at the window: his farewell to her; and it seemed to come home
to her like a stroke of lightning, that in his despair he had rashly
sought the end.

She said nothing. There was no wild cry of horror: only a sudden motion
of her hands towards her bosom, where she held them pressed; and they
saw her face turn of a deathly white, even to her lips, as the blood
flew to her heart. Then she uttered a low sigh and sank down in a
chair, where she was still seated, gazing vacantly before her into the
future, when her father returned and flew to her side.

He looked at his wife without speaking, but his eyes said plainly, "You
have heard?" and Mrs Ellis bowed her head.

"Mary, my darling," the old man whispered, as he caught her to his
heart. And at this she uttered a faint cry, and hid her poor white face
upon her hands.

"We can do nothing, mother," whispered Ellis. "Let her rest. Time is
the only cure for this. I tried to hide it, but I knew it must come at
last, and it has come."

"Good-bye--good-bye for ever," murmured Mary, almost in a whisper; and
her words sent a chill through both their breasts.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

From that hour they saw the poor girl droop and begin to fade like some
flower stricken by blight. No murmur escaped her lips, and John
Grange's name was never mentioned. But it was noted at home that she
appeared to be more gently affectionate to those about her, and anxious
to please her father, while many a time poor Mrs Ellis told her husband
that she was sure "our Mary" was slowly sinking into the grave.

"Wait a bit, wife--wait a bit," he would reply testily. "It's quite
natural. You'll see it will pass off, and she'll forget."

"Never, James."

"Well, then, it will become softened down as time goes on; she's gentler
towards Daniel Barnett, too, now. There: it will all come right in the
end."

Mrs Ellis sighed