akfast, _tete-a-tete_
with Miss Skipwith, seemed on this particular morning! Even that
preoccupied lady was constrained to notice Violet's exceeding pallor.

"My dear, you are ill!" she exclaimed. "Your face is as white as a
sheet of paper, and your eyes have dark rings around them."

"I am not ill, but I have been sleeping badly of late."

"My dear child, you need occupation; you want an aim. The purposeless
life you are leading must result badly. Why can you not devise some
pursuit to fill your idle hours? Far be it from me to interfere with
your liberty; but I confess that it grieves me to see youth, and no
doubt some measure of ability, so wasted. Why do you not strive to
continue your education? Self-culture is the highest form of
improvement. My books are at your disposal."

"Dear Miss Skipwith, your books are all theological," said Vixen
wearily, "and I don't care for theology. As for my education, I am not
utterly neglecting it. I read Schiller till my eyes ache."

"One shallow German poet is not the beginning and end of education,"
replied Miss Skipwith. "I should like you to take larger views of
woman's work in the world."

"My work in the world is to live quietly, and not to trouble anyone,"
said Vixen, with a sigh.

She was glad to leave Miss Skipwith to her books, and to wander out
into the sunny garden, where the figs were ripening or dropping
half-ripened amongst the neglected grass, and the clustering bloom of
the hydrangeas was as blue as the summer sky. There had been an
unbroken interval of sultry weather--no rain, no wind, no clouds--only
endless sunshine.

"If it would hail, or blow, or thunder," sighed Vixen, with her hands
clasped above her head, "the change might be some small relief to my
feelings; but this everlasting brightness is too dreadful. What a lying
world it is, and how Nature smiles at us when our hearts are aching.
Well, I suppose I ought to wish the sunshine to last till after Rorie's
wedding; but I don't, I don't, I don't! If the heavens were to darken,
and forked lightnings to cleave the black vault, I should dance for
joy. I should hail the storm, and cry, 'This is sympathy!'"

And then she flung herself face downwards on the grass and sobbed, as
she had sobbed on her pillow that morning.

"It rends my heart to know we are parted for ever," she said. "Oh why
did I not say Yes that night in the fir plantation? The chance of
lifelong bliss was in my hand, and I let it g