over, and when Edward had recognised as well as herself
the necessities of the matter. She went back again out of the little
hall where, for one moment and no more, the lights of youth and love had
flushed over Nettie, suffusing her paleness with rose-blushes. Now it
was all over. The romance was ended, the hero gone, and life had begun
anew.

"I can't say I ever liked this place," sighed Mrs Fred, when the lamp
was lit that evening, and Nettie had come down-stairs again after seeing
the children in bed. "It was always dull and dreary to me. If we hadn't
been so far out of Carlingford, things might have been very different.
My poor Fred! instead of taking care of him, all the dangers that ever
could be were put in his way."

This sentence was concluded by some weeping, of which, however, Nettie
did not take any notice. Making mourning by lamp-light is hard work, as
all poor seamstresses know. Nettie had no tears in the eyes that were
fixed intently upon the little coat which was to complete Freddy's
outfit; and she did not even look up from that urgent occupation to
deprecate Susan's tears.

"I tell you, Nettie, I never could bear this place," said Mrs Fred; "and
now, whenever I move, the dreadful thoughts that come into my mind are
enough to kill me. You always were strong from a baby, and of course it
is not to be expected that you can understand what my feelings are. And
Mrs Smith is anything but kind, or indeed civil, sometimes; and I don't
think I could live through another of these cold English winters. I am
sure I never could keep alive through another winter, now my poor Fred's
gone."

"Well?" asked Nettie, with involuntary harshness in her voice.

"I don't care for myself," sobbed Mrs Fred, "but it's dreadful to see
you so unfeeling, and to think what would become of his poor children if
anything were to happen to me. I do believe you would marry Edward Rider
if it were not for me, and go and wrong the poor children, and leave
them destitute. Nobody has the feeling for them that a mother has; but
if I live another winter in England, I know I shall die."

"You have thought of dying a great many times," said Nettie, "but it has
never come to anything. Never mind that just now. What do you want? Do
you want me to take you back to the colony all these thousands of miles,
after so many expenses as there have been already?--or what is it you
want me to do?"

"You always speak of expenses, Nettie: you are ver