inks it will yet. She was pathetically anxious not to be
impatient. She said she knew there were so many reasons for delay when
people were in foreign countries and very much occupied."

"There are many reasons, I daresay," said Mrs. Warren with a touch of
bitterness," but they are not usually the ones given to waiting,
desperate women."

Dr. Warren stood upon the hearthrug and gazed into the fire, knitting
his brows.

"She wanted to tell or ask me something this afternoon," he said, "but
she was afraid. She looked like a good child in great trouble. I think
she will speak before long."

She looked more and more like a good child in trouble as time passed.
Mail after mail came in, and she received no letter. She did not
understand, and her fresh colour died away. She spent her time now in
inventing reasons for the non-arrival of her letter. None of them
comprised explanations which could be disparaging in any sense to
Walderhurst. Chiefly she clung to the fact that he had not been well.
Anything could be considered a reason for neglecting letter writing if a
man was not well. If his illness had become serious she would, of
course, have heard from his doctor. She would not allow herself to
contemplate that. But if he was languid and feverish, he might so easily
put off writing from day to day. This was all the more plausible as a
reason, since he had not been a profuse correspondent. He had only
written when he had found he had leisure, with decent irregularity, so
to speak.

At last, however, on a day when she had felt the strain of waiting
greater than she had courage for, and had counted every moment of the
hour which must elapse before Jane could return from her mission of
inquiry, as she rested on the sofa she heard the girl mount the stairs
with a step whose hastened lightness wakened in her an excited
hopefulness.

She sat up with brightened face and eager eyes. How foolish she had been
to fret. Now--now everything would be different. Ah! how thankful she
was to God for being so good to her!

"I think you must have a letter, Jane," she said the moment the door
opened. "I felt it when I heard your footstep."

Jane was touching in her glow of relief and affection.

"Yes, my lady, I have, indeed. And they said at the bank that it had
come by a steamer that was delayed by bad weather."

Emily took the letter. Her hand shook, but it was with pleasure. She
forgot Jane, and actually kissed the envelope befor