know, and yet the furnace was
heated sevenfold for her. Make believe that he is alive! Why, he has
never been dead to her! It is her vivid faith and her vivid
imagination that has helped her to live all these years instead of
lying there a crushed wreck for people to patronise and pity."

And here again there was a wicked little twinkle in the Vicar's eyes.
Did he not know his Isabella, and how good she was to those who would
allow her to advise and lecture them.

"Mrs. Broderick has just laughed and put her foot down, that is why
Isabella is always complaining of her. They have not exactly hit it
off." And here the Vicar laughed softly as he sat down to consider his
sermon.

"Aunt Madge, how cosy you look!" exclaimed Olivia, as she stood on the
threshold of the warm firelit room; and then a swift transition of
thought carried her back to the dismal little dining-room at Galvaston
Terrace, with its black smouldering fire, and the damp clinging to the
window-panes, and an involuntary shiver crossed her as she knelt down
beside her aunt's couch.

"My dear Livy, you are a perfect iceberg!" exclaimed Mrs. Broderick.
"No, you shall not kiss me again until you are warmer. Sit down in
that easy-chair close to the fire where I can see you, and take that
handscreen for the good of your complexion.--Now, Deb, bring the
tea-things, like a good soul, for Mrs. Luttrell has made a poor dinner."

"How could you guess that, Aunt Madge? Are you a witch or a magician?"
asked Olivia, in her astonished voice. It was pure guess-work on Mrs.
Broderick's part, but as usual her keen wits had grazed the truth.

Olivia, who had a healthy girlish appetite, had risen from the midday
meal almost as hungry as when she had sat down. The dish of hashed
mutton had been small, and if Olivia had eaten her share, Martha would
have fared badly. A convenient flower-pot, a gift from Aunt Madge, had
prevented Marcus from seeing his wife's plate. Olivia, who had dined
off potatoes and gravy, was already faint from exhaustion. As usual,
she confessed the truth.

"It was my fault, Aunt Madge," she said, basking like a blissful
salamander in the warm glow. "I ought to have known the meat would not
go round properly; but happily Marcus did not notice, or else there
would have been a fuss. He and Martha dined properly, and I mean to
enjoy my tea."

But Mrs. Broderick's only answer was to ring her handbell.

"Deb, boil two of those nice new-