he has suffered too much already. I think I could
write a few words that would satisfy him, if I could only trust Chatty to
take them.'

'You had better wait until to-morrow morning and intrust your letter to
the "five-o'clock carrier."' And as my meaning dawned on her her doubtful
expression changed into a smile. 'Do wait, Gladys,' I continued
coaxingly. 'It is very selfish of me, perhaps, but I should like to give
that letter to Max.'

'You may have your wish, then, for I was half afraid of sending it by
Chatty. I have grown so nervous, Ursula, that I start at a shadow. I can
trust you better than myself. Well, I will write it, and then it will be
safe in your hands.'

I went away again after this, and left her alone in the quiet shady room.
I fought rather a battle with myself as I paced up and down Lady Betty's
spacious chamber. Why need I think of my own troubles? why could I not
keep down this pain? I would think only of Gladys's and of my dear Max's
happiness, and I dashed away hot tears that would keep blinding me as I
remembered the chilly greeting of the morning. And yet once--but no; I
would not recall that bitter-sweet memory. I left Gladys alone for an
hour: when I went back she was leaning wearily against the cushions of
her chair, the closely-written sheets still open on her lap, as though
she needed the evidence of sight and touch to remind her that it was not
part of her dream.

'Have you written your letter, Gladys?'

'Yes,' with a blush; 'but it is very short, only a few words. He will
understand that I am weak and cannot exert myself much. Will you read it,
Ursula, and tell me if it will do?'

I thought it better to set her mind at rest, so I took it without demur.
The pretty, clear handwriting was rather tremulous: he would be sorry to
see that.

'My dear Mr. Cunliffe,'--it said,--'Your letter has made me very happy.
I wish I could answer it as it ought to be answered; but I know you will
not misunderstand the reason why I say so little.

'I have been very ill, and am still very weak, and my hand trembles too
much when I try to write; but I am not ungrateful for all the kind things
you say; it makes me very happy to know you feel like that, even though I
do not deserve it.

'You must not blame yourself so much for misunderstanding me: we have
both been deceived; I know that now. It was wrong of me to give up my
work; but Etta told me that people were saying unkind things of me, and
I was