d her that in future
she must; that such was his express desire; that it was her duty to
herself and others. And while saying this, which seemed to indicate that
widowhood would be her state as far as he was concerned, he pressed her
hand with extreme sweetness, and his bird's-eyes twinkled obligingly. It
is to be feared that Mr. Pole had passed the age of improvement, save
in his peculiar art. After a time Nature stops, and says to us 'thou art
now what thou wilt be.'

Cornelia was in black from neck to foot. She joined the conversation as
the others did, and indeed more flowingly than Adela, whose visage
was soured. It was Cornelia to whom Merthyr explained his temporary
subjection to the piteous appeals of Mrs. Chump. She smiled humorously
to reassure him of her perfect comprehension of the apology for his
visit, and of his welcome: and they talked, argued a little, differed,
until the terrible thought that he talked, and even looked like some one
else, drew the blood from her lips, and robbed her pulses of their play.
She spoke of Emilia, saying plainly and humbly: "All we have is owing
to her." Arabella spoke of Emilia likewise, but with a shade of the
foregone tone of patronage. "She will always be our dear little sister."
Adela continued silent, as with ears awake for the opening of a door.
Was it in ever-thwarted anticipation of the coming of Sir Twickenham?

Merthyr's inquiry after Wilfrid produced a momentary hesitation on
Cornelia's Part--"He has gone to Verona. We have an uncle in the
Austrian service," she said; and Merthyr bowed.

What was this tale of Emilia, that grew more and more perplexing as he
heard it bit by bit? The explanation awaited him at Richford. There,
when Georgiana had clasped her brother in one last jealous embrace, she
gave him the following letter straightway, to save him, haply, from the
false shame of that eager demand for one, which she saw ready to leap
to words in his eyes. He read it, sitting in the Richford library alone,
while the great rhododendron bloomed outside, above the shaven sunny
sward, looking like a monstrous tropic bird alighted to brood an hour in
full sunlight.

"My Friend!"

"I would say my Beloved! I will not write it, for it would be false. I
have read of the defeat. Why was a battle risked at that cruel place!
Here are we to be again for so many years before we can win God to be
on our side! And I--do you not know? we used to talk of it!--I never can
thi