ean time affairs had outwardly
calmed down in Prince's Gate. The agitation, which had been felt even by
the humblest servant in the establishment had ceased. Everything had
returned to its accustomed groove. The nine days' wonder of that put off
wedding had ceased to be a wonder. It still, it is true, gave zest to
conversation in the servants' hall, but upstairs it was never mentioned.
The even routine of daily life had resumed its sway, and things looked
something as they did before, except that Mr. Harman grew to all eyes
perceptibly weaker, that Charlotte was very grave and pale and quiet,
that old Uncle Jasper was no longer in and out of the house, and that
John Hinton never came near it. The luxurious house in Prince's Gate was
unquestionably very dull; but otherwise no one could guess that there
was anything specially amiss there.

On a certain morning, Charlotte got up, put on her walking things, and
went out. She had not been out of doors for a week, and a sudden longing
to be alone in the fresh outer world came over her too strongly to be
rejected. She called a hansom and once more drove to her favorite
Regent's Park. The park was now in all the full beauty and glory of its
spring dress, and Charlotte sat down under the green and pleasant shade
of a wide spreading oak-tree. She folded her hands in her lap and gazed
straight before her. She had lived through one storm, but she knew that
another was before her. The sky overhead was still gray and lowering;
there was scarcely even peace in this brief lull in the tempest. In the
first sudden fierceness of the storm she had acted nobly and bravely,
but now that the excitement was past, there was coming to her a certain
hardening of heart, and she was beginning to doubt the goodness of God.
At first, most truly she had scarcely thought of herself at all, but it
was impossible as the days went on for her not to make a moan over her
own altered life. The path before her looked very dark, and Charlotte's
feet had hitherto been unaccustomed to gloom. She was looking forward to
the death, the inevitable and certainly approaching death of her father.
That was bad, that was dreadful; but bad and dreadful as it would be to
say good-bye to the old man, what must follow would be worse; however
she might love him, however tenderly she might treat him, during his few
remaining days or weeks of life, when all was over and he could return
no more to receive men's praise or blame, t