illness, and there were even more painful causes for her collapses. Her
uncle's care had not been entirely able to prevent the publication of
such a sensational story, known, as it was, to most people at Westhaven;
in fact, he was only able to reach the more respectable papers; and the
society to which Miss Gattoni introduced them was just that which
revelled in the society papers. So every now and then whispers would go
about that Miss Morton was the heroine--or rather the villain--of the
piece, and these were sure ultimately to reach Miss Gattoni. And at
Genoa they had actually been at the same _table-d'hote_ with Tom Brady's
sister--nay, they had seen the _Morna_ in the harbour.

Gradually each summer brought less renovation; each winter, wherever
spent, brought Ida lower, till at length she was ill enough for her
mother thankfully to reply to Constance's entreaty to come out to them at
Biarritz.

Constance had grown to be in her vacation more and more the child of the
house at Northmoor, and since her college career had ended with credit
externally, and benefit inwardly, she had become her aunt's right hand,
besides teaching Amice music and beginning Michael's Latin; but it was
plain that her duty lay in helping to nurse her sister, and her uncle
escorted her. They were greatly shocked at the change in the once
brilliant girl, and her broken, dejected manner, apparently incapable of
taking interest in anything. She would scarcely admit her uncle at
first, but when she discovered that even Constance was in perfect
ignorance of her part in the loss of Michael, she was overcome with the
humiliation of intense gratitude, and the sense of a wonderful
forgiveness and forbearance.

He never exactly knew what he had said to her; but for the two days that
he was able to remain, she wished for him to sit with her as much as
possible, though often in silence; and she let him bring her the English
chaplain.

No one expected her to live through the spring, but with it came another
partial revival, and therewith a vehement desire to see Westhaven again.
It was as if her uncle had extracted the venom of the sting of remorse,
and when that had become repentance, the old affection for the home of
her childhood was free to revive. Good Mr. Rollstone was dead, but his
wife and daughter kept on the lodging-house, and were affectionately glad
to welcome their old friends. Herbert, who had been happily farming for
two years