ient unto the day was
the evil thereof. She had the root of peace and strength, and had long
been trained in patient trust and endurance. To pray, to strive, to
dwell on words of comfort, to bear in mind the blessings of the cross,
to turn resolutely from gloomy contemplations, and to receive thankfully
each present solace,--these were the tasks she set herself, and they
bore the fruit of consolation and hidden support. Her boy's affection
and goodness, the beauty and high health of her little girls, and the
kindlier moments when Arthur's better nature shone out, were balm and
refreshment, because she accepted them as gifts from the Fatherly Hand
that laid the trial upon her.

Her submissive distress so far worked on Arthur, that she heard no more
of the Boulogne scheme for the present, and she drove it out of her
mind, grateful for his silence, whether it was only from consideration
for her, or whether he had really relinquished the design, now that Mr.
Gardner was no longer near to maintain his ascendancy.

The summer was dreary at Brogden, as well as in Cadogan-place. Theodora
soon was able to call herself well, and to resume her usual avocations,
but she had not the same sense of energy and strength of body, and her
days were combats with inertness and fatigue. She did not slacken her
exertions, but they had no zest, and she suffered for them. Moreover,
she was uneasy about Arthur and his wife; and to partake her father's
confidence was to share his many anxieties, and to be perplexed by his
cares as well as her own. With her mother there were other difficulties.
Lady Martindale had been kept so far apart from her daughter, that now
it seemed as if they could not amalgamate, and when Theodora no longer
was ill, the old habit of reserve returned. Assiduously did Theodora
wait on her, read to her, and go out with her in the carriage; but still
without becoming familiar, or being able to cheer her spirits. In truth,
after having been for years an obedient attendant on her aunt, Lady
Martindale felt the blank of the want of occupation, and thus the sense
of her loss was ever renewed. Science, literature, and accomplishments
had been her pursuits, chiefly because her aunt led her to them, and
they had been gradually dropped with Mrs. Nesbit's interest in them. In
themselves they had no charm for her, and she turned from them now
as painfully recalling what she had lost. Dispirited, and without
employment, the natural co