m at his grandfather's death; but he was as subservient to Friend
Donnelly's wishes in regard to the farming operations as if the latter
held the fee of the property. His coming did not fill the terrible gap
which De Courcy's death had made, but seemed to make it less constantly
and painfully evident.

Susan Donnelly soon remarked a change, which she could neither clearly
define nor explain to herself, both in her husband and in their daughter
Sylvia. The former, although in public he preserved the same grave,
stately face,--its lines, perhaps, a little more deeply marked,--seemed
to be devoured by an internal unrest. His dreams were of the old times:
words and names long unused came from his lips as he slept by her side.
Although he bore his grief with more strength than she had hoped, he
grew nervous and excitable,--sometimes unreasonably petulant, sometimes
gay to a pitch which impressed her with pain. When the spring came
around, and the mysterious correspondence again failed, as in the
previous year, his uneasiness increased. He took his place on the high
seat on First-days, as usual, but spoke no more.

Sylvia, on the other hand, seemed to have wholly lost her proud,
impatient character. She went to meeting much more frequently than
formerly, busied herself more actively about household matters,
and ceased to speak of the uncertain contingency which had been so
constantly present in her thoughts. In fact, she and her father had
changed places. She was now the one who preached patience, who held
before them all the bright side of their lot, who brought Margaret
Alison to the house and justified her dead brother's heart to his
father's, and who repeated to the latter, in his restless moods, "De
Courcy foresaw the truth, and we must all in the end decide as he did."

"Can THEE do it, Sylvia?" her father would ask.

"I believe I have done it already," she said. "If it seems difficult,
pray consider how much later I begin my work. I have had all your
memories in charge, and now I must not only forget for myself, but for
you as well."

Indeed, as the spring and summer months came and went, Sylvia evidently
grew stronger in her determination. The fret of her idle force was
allayed, and her content increased as she saw and performed the possible
duties of her life. Perhaps her father might have caught something
of her spirit, but for his anxiety in regard to the suspended
correspondence. He wearied himself in guesses