hawl on her shoulders. "I will not take it off
yet," she said in a plaintive voice. "I am very cold."

She shivered slightly. Lionel drew her chair yet nearer the fire, and
brought a footstool for her feet, repeating his question as he did so.

"We reached Liverpool late yesterday, and I started for home this
morning," she answered, her eyelashes wet still, as she gazed into the
fire. "What a miserable journey it has been!" she added, turning to
Lionel. "A miserable voyage out; a miserable ending!"

"Are you aware of the changes that have taken place since you left?" he
asked. "Your aunt is dead."

"Yes, I know it," she answered. "They told me at the station just now.
That lame porter came up and knew me; and his first news to me was that
Mrs. Verner was dead. What a greeting! I was coming home here to live
with her."

"You could not have received my letter. One which I wrote at the request
of Mrs. Verner in answer to yours."

"What news was in it?" she asked. "I received no letter from you."

"It contained remittances. It was sent, I say, in answer to yours, in
which you requested money should be forwarded for your home passage.
You did not wait for it?"

"I was tired of waiting. I was sick for home. And one day, when I had
been crying more than usual, Mrs. Eyre said to me that if I were so
anxious to go, there need be no difficulty about the passage-money, that
they would advance me any amount I might require. Oh, I was so glad! I
came away by the next ship."

"Why did you not write saying that you were coming?"

"I did not think it mattered--and I knew I had this home to come to. If
I had had to go to my old home again at papa's, then I should have
written. I should have seemed like an intruder arriving at their house,
and have deemed it necessary to warn them of it."

"You heard in Australia of Mr. Verner's death, I presume?"

"I heard of that, and that my husband had inherited Verner's Pride. The
news came out just before I sailed for home. Of course I thought I had a
right to come to this home, though he was dead. I suppose it is yours
now?"

"Yes."

"Who lives here?"

"Only myself."

"Have I a right to live here--as Frederick's widow?" she continued,
lifting her large blue eyes anxiously at Lionel. "I mean would the law
give it me?"

"No," he replied, in a low tone. He felt that the truth must be told to
her without disguise. She was placing both him and herself in an
embarrassing situation