pions unwilling to come forth in the Church's cause, she remembered
the ordeal to Norman's faith, and felt that the exertion of her
influence was too great a responsibility.

'You don't like this,' said Tom, after a pause. 'It is not my doing,
you know.'

'No, I did not suppose it was,' said Ethel. 'You would not withhold
any one in these days of exceeding want of able clergymen.'

'I told him it would be a grief at home,' added Tom, 'but when a lad
gets into that desperate mood, he always may be a worse grief if you
thwart him; and I give you credit, Ethel, you have not pulled the curb.'

'Richard told me not.'

'Richard represents the common sense of the family when I am not at
home.'

Tom was going the next day to his course of study at the London
hospitals, and this--the late afternoon--was the first time that he and
his sister had been alone together. He had been for some little time
having these short jerks of conversation, beginning and breaking off
rather absently. At last he said, 'Do those people ever write?'

'Prisoners, do you mean? Not for three months.'

'No--exiles.'

'Mary has heard twice.'

He held out Mary's little leathern writing-case to her.

'O, Tom!'

'It is only Mary.'

Ethel accepted the plea, aware that there could be no treason between
herself and Mary, and moreover that the letters had been read by all
the family. She turned the key, looked them out, and standing by the
window to catch the light, began to read--

'You need not be afraid, kind Mary,' wrote Averil, on the first days of
her voyage; 'I am quite well, as well as a thing can be whose heart is
dried up. I am hardened past all feeling, and seem to be made of
India-rubber. Even my colour has returned--how I hate to see it, and
to hear people say my roses will surprise the delicate Americans.
Fancy, in a shop in London I met an old school-fellow, who was
delighted to see me, talked like old times, and insisted on knowing
where we were staying. I used to be very fond of her, but it was as if
I had been dead and was afraid she would find out I was a ghost, yet I
talked quite indifferently, and never faltered in my excuses. When we
embarked, it was no use to know it was the last of England, where _he_
and you and home and life were left. How I envied the poor girl, who
was crying as if her heart would break!'

On those very words, broke the announcement of Mr. Cheviot. Tom coolly
held out his hand for the l