s upward
glance just missing the preacher, and was quite undisturbed by his
appeals.

Judith Lisle had accepted the offer of a situation at Miss Macgregor's
with the expectation of being worked to death, only hoping, as she told
Mrs. Barton, that the process would be slow. The hope would not have
been at all an unreasonable one if she had undertaken her task in the
days when she had Bertie to work for. She could have lived through much
when she lived for Bertie. But, losing her brother, the mainspring of
her life seemed broken. One would have said that she had leaned on him,
not he on her, she drooped so pitifully now he was gone. Even Miss
Macgregor noticed that Miss Lisle was delicate, and expressed her strong
disapprobation of such a state of affairs. Mrs. Barton thought Judith
looking very far from well, suggested tonics, and began to consider
whether she might ask her to go to them for her summer holidays. But to
Percival's eyes there was a change from week to week, and he watched her
with terror in his heart. Judith had grown curiously younger during the
last few months. There had been something of a mother's tenderness in
her love for Bertie, which made her appear more than her real age and
gave decision and stateliness to her manner. Now that she was alone, she
was only a girl, silent and shrinking, needing all her strength to
suffer and hide her sorrow. Percival knew that each Sunday, as soon as
she had taken her place, she would look downward to the pew where he
always sat to ascertain if he were there. For a moment he would meet
that quiet gaze, lucid, uncomplaining, but very sad. Then her eyes would
be turned to her book or to the little boys who sat near her, or it
might even be to Mr. Bradbury. The long service would begin, go on, come
to an end. But before she left her place her glance would meet his once
more, as if in gentle farewell until another Sunday should come round.
Percival would not for worlds have failed at that trysting-place, but he
cursed his helplessness. Could he do nothing for Judith but cheer her
through Mr. Bradbury's sermons?

About this time he used deliberately to indulge in an impossible fancy.
His imagination dwelt on their two lives, cramped, dwarfed and fettered.
He had lost his freedom, but it seemed to him that Judith, burdened once
with riches, and later with poverty, never had been free. He looked
forward, and saw nothing in the future but a struggle for existence
which mi