e suffered, you don't know how dreadful it is to be alone."

The tone of her voice told him that she had been crying. He at once
tried the best means of setting the poor lady at ease, by telling her
of the conclusion at which he had arrived, after reading her manuscript.
The happy result showed itself instantly: her face brightened, her
manner changed; she was eager to hear more.

"Have I produced any other impression on you?" she asked.

He understood the allusion. Expressing sincere respect for her own
convictions, he told her honestly that he was not prepared to enter
on the obscure and terrible question of supernatural interposition.
Grateful for the tone in which he had answered her, she wisely and
delicately changed the subject.

"I must speak to you of my brother-in-law," she said. "He has told me of
your visit; and I am anxious to know what you think of him. Do you like
Mr. John Zant?"

Mr. Rayburn hesitated.

The careworn look appeared again in her face. "If you had felt as kindly
toward him as he feels toward you," she said, "I might have gone to St.
Sallins with a lighter heart."

Mr. Rayburn thought of the supernatural appearances, described at the
close of her narrative. "You believe in that terrible warning," he
remonstrated; "and yet, you go to your brother-in-law's house!"

"I believe," she answered, "in the spirit of the man who loved me in the
days of his earthly bondage. I am under _his_ protection. What have I
to do but to cast away my fears, and to wait in faith and hope? It might
have helped my resolution if a friend had been near to encourage me."
She paused and smiled sadly. "I must remember," she resumed, "that your
way of understanding my position is not my way. I ought to have told you
that Mr. John Zant feels needless anxiety about my health. He declares
that he will not lose sight of me until his mind is at ease. It
is useless to attempt to alter his opinion. He says my nerves are
shattered--and who that sees me can doubt it? He tells me that my only
chance of getting better is to try change of air and perfect repose--how
can I contradict him? He reminds me that I have no relation but himself,
and no house open to me but his own--and God knows he is right!"

She said those last words in accents of melancholy resignation, which
grieved the good man whose one merciful purpose was to serve and console
her. He spoke impulsively with the freedom of an old friend,

"I want to know more