g the tender unwed woman "Mother Anne," and
having a special lovingness for her, she being the creature each one
seemed to hover about with innocent protection and companionship.

The wonder of Anne's life grew deeper to her hour by hour, and where she
had before loved, she learned to worship, for 'twas indeed worship that
her soul was filled with. She could not look back and believe that she
had not dreamed a dream of all the fears gone by and that they held.
This--this was true--the beauty of these days, the love of them, the
generous deeds, the sweet courtesies, and gentle words spoken. This
beauteous woman dwelling in her husband's heart, giving him all joy of
life and love, ruling queenly and gracious in his house, bearing him
noble children, and tending them with the very genius of tenderness and
wisdom.

But in Mistress Anne herself life had never been strong; she was of the
fibre of her mother, who had died in youth, crushed by its cruel weight,
and to her, living had been so great and terrible a thing. There had not
been given to her the will to battle with the Fate that fell to her, the
brain to reason and disentangle problems, or the power to set them aside.
So while her Grace of Osmonde seemed but to gain greater state and beauty
in her ripening, her sister's frail body grew more frail, and seemed to
shrink and age. Yet her face put on a strange worn sweetness, and her
soft, dull eyes had a look almost like a saint's who looks at heaven. She
prayed much, and did many charitable works both in town and country. She
read her books of devotion, and went much to church, sitting with a
reverend face through many a dull and lengthy sermon she would have felt
it sacrilegious to think of with aught but pious admiration. In the
middle of the night it was her custom to rise and offer up prayers
through the dark hours. She was an humble soul who greatly feared and
trembled before her God.

"I waken in the night sometimes," the fair, tall child Daphne said once
to her mother, "and Mother Anne is there--she kneels and prays beside my
bed. She kneels and prays so by each one of us many a night."

"'Tis because she is so pious a woman and so loves us," said young John,
in his stately, generous way. The house of Osmonde had never had so fine
and handsome a creature for its heir. He o'ertopped every boy of his age
in height, and the bearing of his lovely youthful body was masculine
grace itself.

The town and