hat a
hard face had softened, but told herself reassuringly that Dane would
notice the improvement,--when he returned!

Anxiety about her daughters had made Mrs Mallison more than usually
unobservant of her husband during the last few months. She cherished
one or two axioms concerning him which lived on unchanged from year to
year. One was that "Papa was always ailing," another that "Papa was so
tiresome," a third that in dealing with Papa, it was wisdom to "take no
notice." The cod-liver oil was the only concession she had made to the
increasing weakness which she could not ignore.

Breakfast was finished, and half a dozen letters were distributed round
the table. Teresa turned over her share with an eager hand, and paled
into indifference. It was with an obvious effort that she tore open an
envelope, and made a pretence of reading. This morning at least she had
made sure of a letter from Dane. It was eight days since she had heard
from him last, and up till now he had written regularly once a week.
They were not lover-like letters, those chronicles of daily doings, and
allusions to the leading events of the day, but such as they were, they
made the sum of Teresa's life. She read each letter many times,
yearning to find in it some trace of returning love, and once or twice
of late she had believed the search successful. On one occasion her own
weekly letter had been delayed, and Dane wrote that he had been uneasy
all day fearing that she was ill. Again, writing of the loneliness of a
life among strangers, he had afterwards inserted a closely written
phrase: "_Less lonely after your sweet words_!" Teresa read that
sentence with a thrill of intensest relief. Throughout the months of
separation, she had persistently written to Dane in the same outspoken
loving manner as she had done before the fateful visit to Gled Bay. He
knew that she loved him, she was trusting to that love as the magnet
which should draw him back to her side, and would not allow pride to
stand in its way. Nevertheless, receiving those formally written
answers, it was inevitable that she should experience moments of
smarting doubt. Was she humbling herself to reap only impatience and
contempt? And then, after five long months, had come that blessed
reassurement.

"Less lonely, after your sweet words!"

Teresa had gone proudly after the receipt of that message, but she was
hungry for more. The waiting seemed longer than ever, now th