an do without it, thank you,' said Theodora.

Mrs. Nesbit burst into a passion of tears at the ingratitude of her
nephews and nieces. Weeping was so unusual with her that Lady Martindale
was much terrified, sent Theodora away and did her utmost to soothe and
caress her; but her strength and spirits were broken, and that night she
had another stroke. She was not in actual danger, but was a long time
in recovering even sufficiently to be moved to England; and during
this period Theodora had little occupation, except companionship to her
father, and the attempt to reduce her temper and tame her self-will. Mr.
Hugh Martindale went to take possession of the living of Brogden, and
she remained a prisoner at Baden, striving to view the weariness and
enforced uselessness of her life, as he had taught her, in the light of
salutary chastisement and discipline.

PART III

Heartsease In thy heart shall spring
If content abiding,
Where, beneath that leafless tree,
Life's still stream is gliding.
But, transplanted thence, it fades,
For it bloometh only
Neath the shadow of the Cross,
In a valley lonely.

--J. E. L.

CHAPTER 1

Love, hope, and patience, these must be thy graces,
And in thine own heart let them first keep school.

--COLERIDGE

The avenue of Martindale budded with tender green, and in it walked
Theodora, watching for the arrival of the sister-in-law, scarcely seen
for nearly four years.

Theodora's dress was of the same rigid simplicity as of old, her figure
as upright, her countenance as noble, but a change had passed over her;
her bearing was less haughty; her step, still vigorous and firm, had
lost its wilfulness, the proud expression of lip had altered to one of
thought and sadness, and her eyes had become softer and more melancholy.
She leaned against the tree where the curate had brought her the first
tidings of Arthur's marriage, and she sighed, but not as erst with
jealousy and repining.

There was, indeed, an alteration--its beginning may not be traced, for
the seed had been sown almost at her birth, and though little fostered,
had never ceased to spring. The first visible shoot had been drawn forth
by Helen Fotheringham; but the growth, though rapid, had been one-sided;
the branches, like those of a tree in a sea-wind, all one way, blown
aside by gusts of passion and self-will. In its next stage, the attempt
to