her many
little services, but if they were alone together, they were tongue-
tied, and never went deeper than surface subjects. Mrs. Poynsett
never discussed her, never criticized her, never attempted to fathom
her, being probably convinced that there was nothing but hard
coldness to be met with by probing. Yet there was something
striking in Cecil's having made people call her Mrs. Raymond
Poynsett, surrendering the Charnock, which she had once brandished
in all their faces, and going by the name by which her husband had
been best known.

To Anne she was passively friendly, and neither gave nor sought
confidences, and Anne was so much occupied with her baby, and all
the little household services that had grown on her, as well as with
her busy husband, that there was little leisure for them; and though
the meeting with Rosamond was at first the most effusive and
affectionate of all, afterwards she seemed to avoid tetes-a-tetes
with her, and was shyer with her than with Anne.

It was Miles that she got on with best. He had never so fully
realized the unhappiness of his brother's married life as those who
had watched it; and he simply viewed her as Raymond's loved and
loving widow and sincere mourner, and treated her with all brotherly
tenderness and reverence for her grief; while she responded with a
cordiality and gratitude which made her, when talking to him, a
pleasanter person than she had ever been seen at Compton before.

But it was not to Miles, but to Rosamond, that she brought an
earnest question, walking in one autumn morning to the Rectory, amid
the falling leaves of the Virginian-creeper, and amazing Rosamond,
who was writing against time for the Indian mail, by asking--

"Rosamond, will you find out if Mrs. Poynsett would mind my coming
to live at Sirenwood?"

"You, Cecil!"

"Yes, I'm old enough. There's no place for me at home, and though I
must be miserable anywhere, it will be better where I have something
to do, of some real use to somebody. I've been walking all round
every day, and seeing what a state it is in--in the hands of
creditors all these years."

"But you would be quite alone!"

"I am quite alone as it is."

"And would your father consent?"

"I think he would. I am a burthen to them now. They cannot feel my
grief, nor comfort it, and they don't like the sight of it, though I
am sure I trouble them with it as little as possible."

"Dear Cecil!" and the ready tears welled