t, or anything but
just--_thee_! There is much in your letter that I can't answer; daren't
trust myself to answer. How could a man grow cold? But it is not for
me to make things more difficult. When I realise how little I have to
offer and how much you stand to lose, my lips are sealed. There could
be no happiness for me, if I ruined your life.

"Mrs Beverley has done me good. I was a madman when I went to her, but
she has calmed me into my right mind. She understands. I retract all I
have ever said in disparagement of `Grizel.' But I was jealous of her
happiness, seeing You sad.

"One word I must add... My engagement will formally continue. I have
explained everything. She knows that at any time a word from you would
bring me to your side; but she still wishes me to take no public step,
until a year has passed. If I were to remain in Chumley the thing would
be impossible, but at a distance,--as it makes things easier for her, I
can hardly refuse. She is very generous to me, Cassandra; very sweet.
I wish I could love her as she deserves. For her sake, and yours, I am
torn with regret; for my own, even now in the first smart of the wound,
I have none. When I philosophised so lightly, I spoke without
experience. I had never known the best. Now I do know, and the
knowledge is worth its price. Our own door is barred, Cassandra, but we
have a key in our hands which opens many doors!

"Dane."

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

MAJOR MALLISON, OR THE DART OF DEATH.

It was a spring morning, a year from the day when Mary Mallison had left
home, and the remaining three members of the family at the Cottage were
seated round the breakfast table. The passage of a single year leaves
little impression in the appearance of grown men and women, but this
instance was the exception to the rule, for an observant eye would have
noted in each countenance something that had been missing twelve months
before.

The Major had aged, in spirit as well as body. He ate little, but moved
his lips continually in nerve-racked fashion, his faded eyes wandered
here and there with a pitiful unrest. Mrs Mallison had noted the
symptoms and ordered cod-liver oil, and the Major swallowed the doses
with resignation, feeling the cure less obnoxious than continuous
argument. A large bottle of the oil stood in readiness on a table near
the door.

Mrs Mallison was stout and bustling as ever, but had lost her erstwhile
complacency. In tr