terests quieted the rector, and
he was able soon to reason himself into the belief that his niece's
return was a trifling affair, perhaps a little uncomfortable, and
certainly silly, but he would soon make it all right; so that when he saw
her coming slowly down-stairs, with Lois creeping after her, almost
afraid to speak, he was able to greet her very tranquilly.

"Are you rested, my child? After breakfast, we'll have a good talk, and
everything shall be straightened out."

Breakfast was a dreary affair. Helen's abstraction was too profound for
her to make even the pretense of eating. Once or twice, when Lois's voice
pierced through the clouds and reached her heart, she looked up, and
tried to reply. But they were all glad when it was over, and the rector
put his arm gently over his niece's shoulders, and drew her into the
library.

"If any one comes, Lois," he said, "you had better just say Helen changed
her mind about going yesterday, and has come back for a few days."

"No," interrupted Helen slowly. "You had better say what is the truth,
Lois. I have come back to Ashurst to stay."

"Now, my dear," remonstrated the rector when they were in the library,
and he had shut the door, "that is really very unwise. These little
affairs, little misunderstandings, are soon cleared up, and they are even
forgotten by the people most interested in them. But outsiders never
forget. So it is very unwise to speak of them."

Helen had seated herself on the other side of his writing-table, brushing
away the litter of papers and unanswered letters, so that she could lean
her elbow on it, and now she looked steadily across at him.

"Uncle," she said, calmly "you do not know. There is no misunderstanding.
It is just what I told you last night: he thinks it best that I should
leave him indefinitely. I know that it is forever. Yes, it seems to him
best. And I am sure, feeling as he does, he is right. Yes, John is
right."

Dr. Howe threw himself back in his revolving chair, and spun half-way
round. "Helen," he said, "this is folly; you must talk like a sensible
woman. You know you cannot leave your husband. I suppose you and Ward,
like all the rest of the world that is married, have had some falling
out; and now, being young, you think your lives are over. Nonsense!
Bless my soul, child, your aunt and I had dozens of them, and all as
silly as this, I'll be bound. But I'm sure we did not take the public
into our confidence by declar