cipated" person had fallen from her.
Living with a perfectly conventional family, she adopted not only the
forms of their faith--in which she had, of course, no choice--but at
length the habit of their minds; with a profound sense of solace, she
avowed her self-deceptions, and became what nature willed her to be--a
daughter of the Church. The calamities that had befallen her family had
all worked in this direction with her, and now that her daily life was
in a sick-chamber, she put forth all her best qualities, finding in
accepted creeds that kind of support which only the very few among
women can sincerely dispense with.

"She has been very, very ill the last few days," was her reply to
Cecily's inquiry. "I don't venture to leave her for more than a few
minutes."

"Mrs. Denyer is away!"

"Yes; she is staying at Sir Roland's, in Lincolnshire. Barbara and her
husband are there, and they sent her an invitation."

"But haven't you a nurse?"

"I'm afraid I shall be obliged to find one."

"Can I help you to-night? Do let me. I have only been home two days,
and came in reply to your letter as soon as I could."

They went up to Zillah's room, and Cecily threw aside her out-of-door
clothing. Then they silently entered the sick-chamber.

Madeline was greatly changed in the short time since Cecily had seen
her. Ceaseless pain had worn away the last traces of her girlish
beauty; the drawn features, the deadened eyes, offered hope that an end
must come before long. She gave a look of recognition as the visitor
approached her, but did not attempt to speak.

"Are you easier again, dear?" Zillah asked, bending over her.

"Yes."

"Mrs. Elgar would like to stay with you a little. She won't ask you to
talk."

"Very well. Go and rest while she stays."

"Yes, go and lie down," urged Cecily. "Please do! I will call you at
once if it is necessary."

Zillah was persuaded, and Cecily took her seat alone by the bedside.
She had lost all thought of herself. The tremor which possessed her
when she entered was subsiding; the unutterable mournfulness of this
little room made everything external to it seem of small account. She
knew not whether it was better to speak or remain mute, and when
silence had lasted for a few minutes, she could not trust her voice to
break it. But at length the motionless girl addressed her.

"Have you enjoyed yourself in Italy?"

"Not much. I have not been very well," Cecily answered, leaning forward