David died. She feels it such a
privilege to watch over him and attend to his little comforts. She is
at work now at the cottage, getting everything ready for them, for they
are expected in about a fortnight's time. But what a volume I am
writing, my dear friend, and as usual about our own affairs. By the
bye, I have never given you Elizabeth's message. She says that now you
have become a celebrated author, she hopes you will not forget your old
friends at the Wood House. Of course, this was only one of her joking
speeches; she makes her little jokes now and then. What she really
means is that you have not been to see us for a long time, and that
when you come you will be welcome."

Malcolm read this letter at least a dozen times, and each time he came
to the message he smiled as though he were well pleased; nevertheless
he made no attempt to go to Staplegrove.

With the exception of that half-hour in the churchyard, he had not seen
Elizabeth since her trouble--an instinctive feeling of delicacy had
warned him to keep his distance. Nearly eight months had passed, but he
was still unwilling to force himself upon her, and the present moment
seemed to him peculiarly unpropitious. Elizabeth's thoughts would be
occupied with the preparations at the cottage. He knew her so well: she
never did things by halves, and she would be at Rotherwood all day
long. No, he would not go yet, he said to himself; it would be time
enough when Cedric came back, and then he would go down to the Wood
House as a matter of course. It cost Malcolm some effort to keep this
resolution when Cedric deferred his return week after week. When the
New Year opened he was at Cairo, and having "a rattling good time," as
he expressed it. It was not until the end of March that he and Mr.
Dunlop turned their faces homeward; but Malcolm made his work an excuse
and held grimly to his post.

CHAPTER XL

"HE IS MY RIVAL STILL"

Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.

Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
--SHAKESPEARE.

Love is patient and content with anything, so it be
together with its beloved.
--JEREMY TAYLOR.

It was on a bright sunshiny April afternoon that Malcolm at last
paid his long-deferred visit to Staplegrove. Cedric had been at home
for nearly a week then, but