te truth. She had never sinned against him,
even by intentional silence. There had been no thought of hers since
she had been his wife which he had not been welcome to share. It
had in truth been for his sake rather than for her own that she had
been silent. She was aware that from cowardice her silence had been
prolonged. But surely now at last he would forgive her that offence.
Then she thought of the words she would use as she owned her fault.
He was a man, and as a man had a right to expect that she would
confess it. If he would come to her, and stand once again with his
arm round her waist, she would confess it.

"My dear, here is a letter. The postman has just brought it." She
took the letter from her mother's hand and hardly knew whether to be
pleased or disappointed when she found that the address was in the
handwriting of Lady Grant. Lady Grant would of course write whether
with good news or with bad. The address told her nothing, but yet she
could not tear the envelope. "Well, my dear; what is it?" said her
mother. "Why don't you open it?"

She turned a soft supplicating painful look up to her mother's face
as she begged for grace. "I will go up-stairs, mamma, and will tell
you by-and-by." Then she left the room with the letter unopened in
her hand. It was with difficulty that she could examine its contents,
so apprehensive was she and yet so hopeful, so confident at one
moment of her coming happiness, and yet so fearful at another that
she should be again enveloped in the darkness of her misery. But she
did at last persuade herself to read the words which Lady Grant had
written. They were very short, and ran as follows: "My dear Cecilia,
my brother returns with me, and will at once go down to Exeter."
The shock of her joy was so great that she could hardly see what
followed. "He will hope to reach that place on the fifteenth by the
train which leaves London at nine in the morning."

That was all, but that was enough. She was sure that he would not
come with the purpose of telling her that he must again leave her.
And she was sure also that if he would once put himself within the
sphere of her personal influence it should be so used that he would
never leave her again.

"Of course he is coming. I knew he would come. Why should he not
come?" This she exclaimed to her mother, and then went on to speak of
him with a wild rhapsody of joy, as though there had hardly been any
breach in her happiness. And she co