Ashton's health was seriously if not fatally shattered, and she was
departing immediately for the South of France.

CHAPTER XVI.

BETWEEN THE TWO.

Not in the Rectory drawing-room, but in a pretty little sitting-room
attached to her bed-chamber, where the temperature was regulated, and no
draughts could penetrate, reclined Mrs. Ashton. Her invalid gown sat
loosely upon her shrunken form, her delicate, lace cap shaded a fading
face. Anne sat by her side in all her loveliness, ostensibly working; but
her fingers trembled, and her face looked flushed and pained.

It was the morning after their return, and Mrs. Graves had called in to
see Mrs. Ashton--gossiping Mrs. Graves, who knew all that took place in
the parish, and a great deal of what never did take place. She had just
been telling it all unreservedly in her hard way; things that might be
said, and things that might as well have been left unsaid. She went out
leaving a whirr and a buzz behind her and an awful sickness of desolation
upon one heart.

"Give me my little writing-case, Anne," said Mrs. Ashton, waking up from
a reverie and sitting forward on her sofa.

Anne took the pretty toy from the side-table, opened it, and laid it on
the table before her mother.

"Is it nothing I can write for you, mamma?"

"No, child."

Anne bent her hot face over her work again. It had not occurred to her
that it could concern herself; and Mrs. Ashton wrote a few rapid lines:

"My Dear Percival,

"Can you spare me a five-minutes' visit? I wish to speak with you. We
go away again on Monday.

"Ever sincerely yours,

"Catherine Ashton."

She folded it, enclosed it in an envelope, and addressed it to the Earl
of Hartledon. Pushing away the writing-table, she held out the note to
her daughter.

"Seal it for me, Anne. I am tired. Let it go at once."

"Mamma!" exclaimed Anne, as her eye caught the address. "Surely you are
not writing to him! You are not asking him to come here?"

"You see that I am writing to him, Anne. And it is to ask him to come
here. My dear, you may safely leave me to act according to my own
judgment. But as to what Mrs. Graves has said, I don't believe a word
of it."

"I scarcely think I do," murmured Anne; a smile hovering on her troubled
countenance, like sunshine after rain.

Anne had the taper alight, and the wax held to it, the note ready in her
hand, when the room-door was thrown open by Mrs. Ashton's maid.

"Lor