ing beside an impersonation of evil. To John he had been
a father and a friend; might not she have confidence in one he had so
loved and trusted?

She began to wish he would call. She wondered he did not, if but to see
after the children. He must be aware of John's recent action in regard
to them, perhaps may have counselled the same. The more she thought of
this, the stronger, by degrees, became her desire to see and consult
him.

Juliet was what might be termed a "person of one idea." Not that her
ideas never changed--she was very versatile; but she was animated wholly
by one idea at a time, to the exclusion of all others. Two weeks ago,
the Catholic Irish priest was the last person she would have thought of
with desire to see. Now, of all people in the world, it was from Father
Duffy she would seek counsel.

She rang her bell, and when Ann appeared, thus addressed her:

"You may do my hair, Ann; I have changed my mind; I thought I would
never have it touched again by comb or brush, but I will. You need not
be particular; only get the tangles out and let it hang; you can find a
black ribbon somewhere. I don't care any more how I look, besides, I am
only going to see your priest, Mr. Duffy. He must be used to seeing
people in all sorts of rigs. It would be different if I were to meet Dr.
Browne. I would dress for him as for a king, once; but not now! I never
shall care again how I look; poor John cannot see me."

Sobs and tears choked further utterance. Ann gave a quick start, when
her mistress mentioned the priest's name. She could hardly believe she
had heard aright. She was used to almost every caprice from Mrs. Temple,
but this last transcended every other. What did it portend?

Mrs. Lang, who was about the size and height of Mrs. Temple, had kindly
taken upon herself the care of procuring her sister's mourning. Having
submitted to all the troubles and inconveniences, she had, but the day
before, sent home several dresses. She would herself have accompanied
them, had she not repeatedly been refused admittance to her sister.
Juliet's hair being finished, she ordered Ann to undo the small mountain
of mourning goods, and select the plainest garment. And, after all, it
was with much hesitation, and continued wringing of hands, and moans and
lamentations, that she allowed herself to be arrayed in these insignias
of her widowhood. She more than once gave up her purpose, only as often
to resume it.

CHAPTER