hen, once here in this loveliness, with everything so soft
and kind and sweet all round, it would be easier to tell him, to try
and explain, to ask for something different, for at least an attempt at
something different in their lives in the future, instead of the
blankness of separation, the cold--oh, the cold--of nothing at all but
the great windiness of faith, the great bleakness of works. Why, one
person in the world, one single person belonging to one, of one's very
own, to talk to, to take care of, to love, to be interested in, was
worth more than all the speeches on platforms and the compliments of
chairmen in the world. It was also worth more--Rose couldn't help it,
the thought would come--than all the prayers.

These thoughts were not head thoughts, like Scrap's, who was
altogether free from yearnings, but bosom thoughts. They lodged in the
bosom; it was in the bosom that Rose ached, and felt so dreadfully
lonely. And when her courage failed her, as it did on most days, and
it seemed impossible to write to Frederick, she would look at Mr.
Wilkins and revive.

There he was, a changed man. There he was, going into that small,
uncomfortable room every night, that room whose proximities had
been Lotty's only misgiving, and coming out of it in the morning, and
Lotty coming out of it too, both of them as unclouded and as nice to
each other as when they went in. And hadn't he, so critical at home,
Lotty had told her, of the least thing going wrong, emerged from the
bath catastrophe as untouched in spirit as Shadrach, Meshach and
Abednego were untouched in body when they emerged from the fire?
Miracles were happening in this place. If they could happen to Mr.
Wilkins, why not to Frederick?

She got up quickly. Yes, she would write. She would go and
write to him at once.

But suppose--

She paused. Suppose he didn't answer. Suppose he didn't even
answer.

And she sat down again to think a little longer.

In these hesitations did Rose spend most of the second week.

Then there was Mrs. Fisher. Her restlessness increased that
second week. It increased to such an extent that she might just as
well not have had her private sitting-room at all, for she could no
longer sit. Not for ten minutes together could Mrs. Fisher sit. And
added to the restlessness, as the days of the second week proceeded on
their way, she had a curious sensation, which worried her, of rising
sap. She knew the feeling, becaus