n the fit of gloom wore over, or when, startled by some
sudden fear of being observed, she roused herself, and came back with an
effort to the things about her, Graeme was always ready, yet not too
eager, to make the most of excuses. Either the heat made her languid,
or the rain made her dull, or the yesterday's walk had been exhausting;
and Graeme would assent, and warn or reprove, as the case seemed to
require, never intimating, by word or look, how clearly she saw through
it all, and how she grieved and suffered with her.

And, when seized upon by restlessness or impatience, she grew irritable
and exacting, and "ill to do with," as Janet would have said, Graeme
stood between her and the wonder and indignation, of her brothers, and,
which was harder to do, shielded her from her own anger and
self-contempt, when she came to herself again. She went out with her
for long walks, and did what was kinder still, she let her go by
herself, to rest her mind by tiring out her body, at times when the
fever fit was on her, making her fret and chafe at trifles that would
have made her laugh if all had been well with her.

It was an anxious time to Graeme. When their brothers were with them,
Rose was little different from the Rose of old, as far as they could
see; and, at such times, even Graeme would be beguiled into a momentary
belief that she had been letting her fears speak, when there was little
cause. But another day would come, bringing the old listlessness or
restlessness, and Graeme could only watch and wait for the moment when a
cheerful word, or a chiding one, might be spoken for her sister's good,
or a movement of some kind made to beguile her into occupation or
pleasure for a little while. But, through all her watching, and
waiting, and anxiety, Graeme spoke no word that might betray to her
sister her knowledge that something was amiss with her.

For, indeed, what could she say? Even in her secret thoughts she had
shrunk from looking too closely on the cloud of trouble that had fallen
on the life of her young sister. Was it misunderstanding, or wounded
pride, or disappointment? Or was it something which time and change
might not so easily or so surely dispel? There were no words to be
spoken, however it might be. That was plain enough, Graeme said to
herself, remembering some years of her own experience, and the silent
life she had lived unsuspected among them all.

Not that any such trouble as had befalle