in their love troubles, and not a few owed their marriages
to her wise arbitration. She had the gypsy's spell. Thus it happened,
therefore, that Agnes, who was habitually reserved, found herself
thinking aloud in the presence of this mysterious but not hostile
personality.

"When does Beauclerk return from the North of France?" asked Sara.

"He is coming back with Mr. Orange next Wednesday. I had a letter this
morning." Her voice grew husky, and with evident agitation she halted
once more.

"You know Beauclerk so well," she said at last, "that I want to ask you
something, and you must answer me truly--without the least dread of
giving offence--because a great deal may depend on what you tell me. Do
you think he seems altogether settled in his mind?"

Sara guessed, from the nature of the question, that the truth in this
case would be a relief--not a blow.

"He doesn't seem quite himself--if you understand me," she said, without
hesitation.

Agnes caught her arm a little more closely and walked with a lighter
step.

"I don't think we love each other sufficiently for marriage," she
exclaimed; "his last letter was so affectionate and so full of kindness
that it brought tears to my eyes. I saw the effort under it all. We are
making a tragic mistake. We drifted into it. We were such good friends,
and we felt, I daresay, that it was our duty to love each other. His
family were pleased and so were mine. We seem to have pleased everybody
except ourselves. Not that I ever expected the joy and stuff, and inward
feelings which one reads of. I am too sensible for that. But I wanted to
feel _established_--whereas we are both, in reality, rather upset. I am
sure of this."

"Perhaps when you see each other----"

"Our letters are far more satisfactory than our meetings. I know he is
fond of me."

"You couldn't doubt that. It is worship."

"I can say, at any rate, that I am so sure of his affection that it
gives me no pain--not the least--to miss the--the other quality."

"My dear, you are not in love with him, or you couldn't be so resigned."

"I suppose you are right. I have never told him that I loved him. He has
never asked me. Perhaps he took it for granted. As for me, I thought
that the respect and esteem I felt would do."

Sara shook her head.

"Not for us. We are different, I know, but we have hearts. We can
suffer, we can endure, we can be resigned, we can be everything except
uncertain, or luke-warm. Isn't