enewal of the story. Grateful are these
interludes, and necessary for the preservation of true equipoise, but
they are not interesting, and in novels all description of them is
carelessly skipped over. In stories we want events, not lingerings.

The summer passed quietly for the family at Lanarth, broken only by the
usual social happenings, visits from the "Byrd girls," as they were
still called, with their husbands and little ones; a marriage, a
christening, letters from Jim and Susie, and measles among the little
Garnetts. In August, Pocahontas and her mother went for a month to
Piedmont, Virginia, to try the medicinal waters for the latter's
rheumatism, and after their return home, Berkeley took a holiday and
ran up to the Adirondacks to see Blanche.

Poor Mrs. Smith did not rally as her family had hoped, and the
physicians--as is customary when a case baffles their skill--all
recommended further and more complete change. They must take her
abroad, and try what the excitement of foreign travel would do toward
preventing her from sinking into confirmed invalidism. General Smith,
who had abandoned every care and interest for the purpose of devoting
himself to his wife, embraced the proposal with eagerness, and insisted
on the experiment being tried as speedily as possible.

Blanche could not help some murmurs, both inwardly and to Berkeley, at
the long separation in store for them; and the lover, although himself
a little rueful, heartened her up with bright prophecies for their
future. An immediate marriage for them was out of the question, for
since Warner's death Mrs. Smith clung to her younger daughter with
absolute dependence. The last of September was decided on for sailing,
as that would allow General Smith time to enter Percival at school, and
to complete other necessary arrangements before the family departure.
The management of Shirley would remain in Berkeley's hands, and the
house would continue closed until the return of the travelers.

To Nesbit Thorne, the summer had appeared interminable, and every
golden hour had been shod with lead. He had passed the season partly
in the Adirondacks with his relatives and partly in New York; but he
was always oppressed with the same miserable unrest, the same weary
longing. It would appear, at times, impossible for him to hold to his
resolution of waiting until after the re-marriage of his _ci-devant_
wife, before again seeking Pocahontas. He yearned to b