ife. A considerable
part of his letters was always occupied with lamentation over the
cursed fate that bound him to the Philistines, though he took care to
repeat that this was the result of his own choice, and that he blamed
no one--unless it were his gross-minded step-father, who had driven him
to such an alternative. These bewailings grew less vehement as his
letters became shorter and arrived at longer intervals; there began to
be a sameness in the tone, even in the words. When his yearly holiday
came round, he promised to visit Southampton, but after all never did
so. What was the use? he wrote. It only meant keener misery to both.
Instead of coming south, he had gone into Scotland.

And Madeline no longer expressed a wish to see him. Her own letters
grew shorter and calmer, containing at length very little about
herself, but for the most part news of family affairs. Every now and
then Clifford seemed to rouse himself to the effort of repeating his
protestations, of affirming his deathless faith; but as a rule he wrote
about trifles, sometimes even of newspaper matters. So did the second
year of Madeline's martyrdom come to its close.

Quarrelling incessantly, Mrs. Denyer and Barbara prepared the lodger's
dinner between them. This Mrs. Travis was not exacting; she had
stipulated only for a cutlet, or something of the kind, with two
vegetables, and a milk pudding. Whatever was proposed seemed to suit
her. The Denyers knew nothing about her, except that she was able to
refer them to a lady who had a house in Mayfair; her husband, she said,
was abroad. She had brought a great deal of luggage, including books to
the number of fifty or so.

When the moment for decision came, Barbara snatched up the folded white
table-cloth, threw it with knives, forks, and plates upon a tray, and
ascended to the lodger's sitting-room. Her cheeks were hot; her eyes
flashed. She had donned the most elegant attire in her possession, had
made her hair magnificent. Her knock at the door was meant to be a
declaration of independence; it sounded peremptory.

Mrs. Travis was in an easy-chair, reading. She looked up absently; then
smiled.

"Good evening, Miss Denyer. How close it has been again!"

"Very. I must ask you to excuse me, Mrs. Travis, if I do these things
rather awkwardly. At a moment's notice, we have lost the servant whose
duty it was."

"Oh, I am only sorry that you should have the trouble. Let us lay the
table together. I