ear her voice, with its odd breaks and
sibilant pauses, so curiously sweet to his ear. "I am possessed," he
would say to himself--"I am possessed!" and indeed with all his
strength of will he was powerless to resist that influence.

Dinah still wrote to him from time to time. The Wood House was empty,
she told him; they had taken a house at Ullswater for three months. Mr.
Carlyon and Theo were to be their guests. "Mr. Carlyon is very far from
well," she wrote, "and his doctor has ordered complete rest for some
months; and we think Elizabeth needs rest and change too, so altogether
it is an excellent plan."

The Ullswater scheme seemed to work well. Dinah told Malcolm that Mr.
Carlyon and Elizabeth were out together most of the day--fishing,
boating, or roaming over the country in search of ferns and
wild-flowers. "The life just suits Elizabeth," she went on; "she likes
the quiet and freedom. And then she and Mr. Carlyon do each other so
much good. He was so weak after the funeral that it is my private
opinion that but for Elizabeth's care and devotion he would soon have
followed David. I know he thinks so himself. 'Father has two daughters
now,' Theo often says, 'but Elizabeth suits him best.' She says it
quite amiably. Theo and I keep each other company. Her favourite
amusement seems visiting the cottages and talking to the women and
children; they get quite fond of 'the red-headed lady' as they call
her. But in the evening we are all together, and then Mr. Carlyon or
Elizabeth reads aloud."

Malcolm was hard at work in his chambers long before the sisters
returned to the Wood House. His book had proved a great success, and
the leading papers had reviewed it most favourably. He had now
commenced fresh work, and spent all his leisure hours at his desk. When
Amias Keston complained that the studio evenings were things of the
past, Malcolm looked at him a little sadly. "I can't help it, old
fellow," he said gravely; "my social qualities are a bit rusty, but I
will behave better by and bye;" and then he nodded to Verity, and went
back to his papers and wrote on grimly, as though some unseen
taskmaster were behind him, ready to scourge him on if he loitered.

"My work saved me--I had nothing else to live for," he said long
afterwards; "nothing else fully occupied my thoughts and made me forget
my trouble. When I was turning out copy I was almost happy. I was not
Malcolm Herrick: I was the heir of all the ages entering i