oor
creature who still claimed his tenderness and his care, but she never
deluded herself that Sterne returned her love. It seemed to her that
her own near association with the tragedy of his life must in itself
prevent such a possibility. In years to come, when poor Flora had found
her rest, Sterne might meet some sweet woman who lived in the sunshine,
and find happiness with her. "He will forget, and be comforted. He
will love her the more for all he has suffered." Meriel felt an anguish
of envy for that other woman who would enjoy the happiness denied to
herself, a bitter rebellion against her own fate.

"I have given my youth, my strength, my soul--and what have I gained in
return? Emptiness and suffering!" she cried fiercely. Then added, with
a sombre triumph, "But she can never help him as I have helped! He can
never need her as he has needed me!"

The end of the four years found the three embarked for India to try the
effect of "suggestion" under a famous professor of the East. It was a
forlorn chance, as it was doubtful if Flora retained enough brain power
to respond to the treatment; but something was hoped from the change of
scene and the healthful effects of the voyage.

Meriel welcomed the change with relief. Flora's increasing disability
had of late thrown her husband and friend into what was practically a
prolonged _tete-a-tete_, and the strain of constant self-repression had
grown beyond endurance. In the turmoil of travelling such close
intimacy would be impossible, and her own tired nerves would be
refreshed.

For the first fortnight all went well. The Bay was smooth, the
Mediterranean blue and smiling; even Flora herself was roused to a
feeble admiration. She was so quiet and amenable that Meriel was able
to leave her for hours together in the charge of her maid, while she
herself lay on a deck chair, luxuriating in the peace and beauty of the
scene. Sometimes Sterne would sit by her side, and they would talk
together,--brief, disconnected fragments of talk, interrupted by
intervals of silence. They spoke of happier days; of their youth, their
dreams and ambitions, the glowing optimism of early hopes.

Sterne had started his career with the finest ambition which a writer
can know: a passing popularity would not satisfy him, money was regarded
merely as a means to live; his aim was to write words which should
endure after he himself was laid to rest, and to that aim he had held
fast