ndow. "Yes," she said
softly, "it is all working to one end. It had to be. Don't talk about it
any more."

Wide-eyed above her tear-stained cheeks, her throat working piteously,
Miriam stared at this strange sister. "But tell me if you are happy,"
she said in a breaking voice.

"Yes, I am. I love him," she said softly. Now, she did not lie. The pity
that had taught her to love Mildred Caniper had the same lesson in
regard to George, and that night, when she looked into the garden and
saw him standing there, because he had been forbidden the house, she
leaned from her bedroom window and held out her hands and ran downstairs
to speak to him.

"You looked so lonely," she told him.

"Didn't you want me a little?" he asked. He looked down, big and gentle,
and she felt her heart flutter as with wings. She nodded, and leaned
against him. It was the truth: she did want him a little.

CHAPTER XXXVI

Miriam had the evidence of her own eyes to assure her that Helen was not
unhappy. The strangely united bride and bridegroom were seen on the moor
together, and they looked like lovers. Moreover, Helen stole out to meet
him at odd hours, and, on the day before Miriam went away, she surprised
them in a heathery dip of ground where Helen sewed and George read
monotonously from a book.

"I--didn't know you were here," Miriam stammered.

"Well, we're not conspirators," Helen said. "Come and sit down. George
is reading to me."

"No, I don't think I will, thank you." Until now, she had succeeded in
avoiding George, but there was no escape from his courteous greeting and
outstretched hand. His manners had improved, she thought: he had no
trace of awkwardness; he was cool and friendly, and, with the folly of
the enamoured, he could no longer find her beautiful. She was at once
aware of that, and she knew the meaning of his glance at Helen, who bent
over her work and did not look at them.

"How are you?" Halkett said.

She found it difficult to answer him, and while she told herself she did
not want his admiration, she felt that some show of embarrassment was
her due.

"I'm very well. No; I won't stay. Helen, may I take Jim?"

"If he will go with you."

Jim refused to stir, and with the burden of that added insult, Miriam
went on her way. It seemed to her that, in the end, Helen had
everything.

Helen believed that the wisdom of her childhood had returned to her to
teach her the true cause of happiness. For her it