eal--indeed, she thought of little else; but it was
with a sort of hopelessness that precluded action. Nobody had
mentioned his name to her, as it was thought wiser not to do so,
though Pigott and Mr. Fraser had, in as gentle terms as they could
command, told her of the details of the plot against her, and of the
consequences to the principal actors in it. Nor had she spoken of him.
It seemed to her that she had lost him for good, that he could never
come back to her after she had passed, that he must hate her too much.
She supposed that, in acting as he did, he was aware of all the
circumstances of her marriage, and could find no excuses for her. She
did not even know where he was, and, in her ignorance of the uses of
private detectives and advertisements, had no idea how to find out.
And so she suffered in silence, and only saw him in her dreams.

She still stopped at the vicarage with Pigott; nor had there as yet
been any talk of her returning to the Abbey House. Indeed, she had not
seen her father since the day of her marriage. But, now that she had
recovered, she felt that something must be done about it. Wondering
what it should be, she one afternoon walked to the churchyard, where
she had not been since her illness, and, once there, made her way
naturally to her mother's grave. She was moving very quietly, and had
almost reached the tree under which Hilda Caresfoot lay, when she
became aware that there was already somebody kneeling by the grave,
with his head rested against the marble cross.

It was her father. Her shadow falling upon him, he turned and saw her,
and they stood looking at each other. She was shocked at the dreadful
alteration in his face. It was now that of an old man, nearly worn out
with suffering. He put his hand before his eyes, and said,

"Angela, how can I face you, least of all here?"

For a moment the memory of her bitter wrongs swelled in her heart, for
she now to a great extent understood what her father's part in the
plot had been, and she regarded him in silence.

"Father," she said, presently, "I have been in the hands of God, and
not in yours, and though you have helped to ruin my life, and have
very nearly driven me into a madhouse, I can still say, let the past
be the past. But why do you look so wretched? You should look happy;
you have got the land--my price, you know," and she laughed a little
bitterly.

"Why do I look wretched? Because I am given over to a curse that you