her patience and resolution
to a merciless test. Happily for herself, her neighbors on either side
were no idlers. To see them so absorbed over their work that they never
once looked at her, after the first moment when she took her place
between them, was to find exactly the example of which she stood most in
need. As the hours wore on, she pursued her weary way, down one column
and up another, resigned at least (if not quite reconciled yet) to her
task. Her labors ended, for the day, with such encouragement as she
might derive from the conviction of having, thus far, honestly pursued a
useless search.

News was waiting for her when she reached home, which raised her sinking
spirits.

On leaving the cottage that morning she had given certain instructions,
relating to the modest stranger who had taken charge of her
correspondence--in case of his paying a second visit, during her absence
at the Museum. The first words spoken by the servant, on opening the
door, informed her that the unknown gentleman had called again. This
time he had boldly left his card. There was the welcome name that she
had expected to see--Alban Morris.

CHAPTER XXII. ALBAN MORRIS.

Having looked at the card, Emily put her first question to the servant.

"Did you tell Mr. Morris what your orders were?" she asked.

"Yes, miss; I said I was to have shown him in, if you had been at home.
Perhaps I did wrong; I told him what you told me when you went out this
morning--I said you had gone to read at the Museum."

"What makes you think you did wrong?"

"Well, miss, he didn't say anything, but he looked upset."

"Do you mean that he looked angry?"

The servant shook her head. "Not exactly angry--puzzled and put out."

"Did he leave any message?"

"He said he would call later, if you would be so good as to receive
him."

In half an hour more, Alban and Emily were together again. The light
fell full on her face as she rose to receive him.

"Oh, how you have suffered!"

The words escaped him before he could restrain himself. He looked at her
with the tender sympathy, so precious to women, which she had not seen
in the face of any human creature since the loss of her aunt. Even the
good doctor's efforts to console her had been efforts of professional
routine--the inevitable result of his life-long familiarity with sorrow
and death. While Alban's eyes rested on her, Emily felt her tears
rising. In the fear that he might misinterpret he