three years of the most perfect happiness. He gave and He hath taken
away. Blessed--'

And there he stopped, for he saw the working of her face. Otherwise they
hardly spoke of their loss even to one another. It went down deeper than
they could bear to utter, and their hearts and eyes met if their lips did
not. Only Lord Northmoor lay too dejected to make the steps expected in
the recovery of strength for a few days after the grievous revelation,
and on the day when at last he was placed on a couch by the window, his
wife collapsed, and, almost unconscious, was carried to her bed.

It was not a severe or alarming attack, and all she wanted was to be let
alone; but there was enough of sore throat and other symptoms to prolong
the quarantine, and Lady Adela could no longer be excluded from giving
her aid. She went to and fro between the patients, and comforted each
with regard to the other, telling the one how her husband's strength was
returning, and keeping the other tranquil by the assurance that what his
wife most needed was perfect rest, especially from the necessity of
restraining herself. Those eyes showed how many tears were poured forth
when they could have their free course. Lady Adela had gone through
enough to feel with ready tact what would be least jarring to each. She
had persuaded Bertha to go back to London, both to her many avocations
and to receive Amice, who must still be kept at a distance for some time.

Lord Northmoor, as soon as he had strength and self-command for it, read
poor Mrs. Morton's letters, and also saw Eden, for whom there was little
fear of infection. She managed to tell her history and answer all his
questions in detail, but she quite broke down under his kind tone of
forgiveness and assurance that no blame attached to her, and that he was
only grateful to her for her tender care of his child, and she went away
sobbing pitifully.

Adela came back, after taking her from the room, where Frank was sitting
in an easy-chair by the window, and looking out on the summer garden,
which seemed to be stripped of all its charm and value for him.

'Poor thing,' she said, 'she is quite overcome by your kindness.'

'I do not think any one is more to be pitied,' said he.

'No, indeed, but she wishes you would have heard what she had to say
about the supposing Ida to have gone in that direction.'

'I thought it better not. It would not have exonerated the poor little
maid from carele