o see you--it was so long since I had heard from you. I
suppose the weeks seem longer at Gadsmere than they do at Diplow," said
Mrs. Glasher. She had a quick, incisive way of speaking that seemed to
go with her features, as the tone and _timbre_ of a violin go with its
form.

"Yes," drawled Grandcourt. "But you found the money paid into the bank."

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Glasher, curtly, tingling with impatience. Always
before--at least she fancied so--Grandcourt had taken more notice of
her and the children than he did to-day.

"Yes," he resumed, playing with his whisker, and at first not looking
at her, "the time has gone on at rather a rattling pace with me;
generally it is slow enough. But there has been a good deal happening,
as you know"--here he turned his eyes upon her.

"What do I know?" said she, sharply.

He left a pause before he said, without change of manner, "That I was
thinking of marrying. You saw Miss Harleth?"

"_She_ told you that?"

The pale cheeks looked even paler, perhaps from the fierce brightness
in the eyes above them.

"No. Lush told me," was the slow answer. It was as if the thumb-screw
and the iron boot were being placed by creeping hands within sight of
the expectant victim.

"Good God! say at once that you are going to marry her," she burst out,
passionately, her knees shaking and her hands tightly clasped.

"Of course, this kind of thing must happen some time or other, Lydia,"
said he; really, now the thumb-screw was on, not wishing to make the
pain worse.

"You didn't always see the necessity."

"Perhaps not. I see it now."

In those few under-toned words of Grandcourt's she felt as absolute a
resistance as if her thin fingers had been pushing at a fast shut iron
door. She knew her helplessness, and shrank from testing it by any
appeal--shrank from crying in a dead ear and clinging to dead knees,
only to see the immovable face and feel the rigid limbs. She did not
weep nor speak; she was too hard pressed by the sudden certainty which
had as much of chill sickness in it as of thought and emotion. The
defeated clutch of struggling hope gave her in these first moments a
horrible sensation. At last she rose, with a spasmodic effort, and,
unconscious of every thing but her wretchedness, pressed her forehead
against the hard, cold glass of the window. The children, playing on
the gravel, took this as a sign that she wanted them, and, running
forward, stood in front of her with