n that," she declared. "I want to have no distractions. My
work will be all sufficient. I have an aunt who is coming to live with
me, and I do not intend to receive any visitors at all. It will be a
little lonely sometimes," she said, looking around at them, "and I
shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself--and I think for
you. Do not avoid me if we meet by accident, but I trust to you all
not to let the accident happen if you can help it."

Brendon rose and came towards her with outstretched hand.

"Good-bye, Miss Pellissier, and success to you," he said. "May you
have as much good fortune as you deserve, but not enough to make you
forget us."

Courtlaw rose too.

"You are of the genus obstinate," he said. "I do not know whether to
wish you success or not. I will wish you success or failure, whichever
is the better for you."

"And I," Ennison said, holding her fingers tightly, and forcing her to
look into his eyes, "I will tell you what I have wished for you when
we meet six months from to-day."

_Chapter XXXII_

SIX MONTHS AFTER

Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met,
came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early
morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in
her eyes. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping
with dew, in the other the post-bag.

She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering
creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window.
Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee
equipage. By the side of her plate was a small key. With trembling
fingers she opened the post-bag. There was one letter. One only.

She opened and read it at once. It was dated from the House of Commons
on the previous day.

"MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,--

"To-morrow the six months will be up. For days I have been
undecided as to whether I would come to you or no. I would like
you to believe that the decision I have arrived at--to stay
away--is wholly and entirely to save you pain. It should be the
happiest day of your life, and I would not detract from its
happiness by letting you remember for a moment that there are
others to whom your inevitable decision must bring some pain.

"For I know that you love Ennison. You tried bravely enough to
hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to
speak to us