and be just.
Papa, Mr. Coventry was trying to comfort me, in his clumsy way; and what
he said he did not invent--he heard it; and so many people say so that
I--I--oh, papa! papa!"

Mr. Carden dropped the whole subject directly.

However, she returned to it herself, and said, listlessly, that Mr.
Coventry, in her opinion, had shown more generosity than most people
would in his case. She had no feeling against him; he was of no more
importance in her eyes than that stool, and he might visit her if he
pleased, but on one condition--that he should forget all the past, and
never presume to speak to her of love. "Love! Men are all incapable
of it." She was thinking of Henry, even while she was speaking of his
rival.

The permission, thus limited, was conveyed to Mr. Coventry by his friend
Carden; but he showed no hurry to take advantage of it; and, as for
Grace, she forgot she had given it.

But this coolness of Coventry's was merely apparent. He was only
awaiting the arrival of Patrick Lally from Ireland. This Lally was
an old and confidential servant, who had served him formerly in many
intrigues, and with whom he had parted reluctantly some months ago, and
allowed him a small pension for past services. He dared not leave the
villa in charge of any person less devoted to him than this Lally.

The man arrived at last, received minute instructions, and then Mr.
Coventry went to Eastbank.

He found what seemed the ghost of Grace Carden lying on the sofa,
looking on the sea.

At the sight of her he started back in dismay.

"What have I done?"

Those strange words fell from him before he knew what he was saying.

Grace heard them, but did not take the trouble to inquire into their
meaning. She said, doggedly, "I am alive, you see. Nothing kills. It is
wonderful: we die of a fall, of a blow, of swallowing a pin; yet I am
alive. But never mind me; you look unwell yourself. What is the matter?"

"Can you ask me?"

At this, which implied that her illness was the cause of his, she turned
her head away from him with weariness and disgust, and looked at the
sea, and thought of the dead.

Coventry sat speechless, and eyed her silent figure with miserable
devotion. He was by her side once more, and no rival near. He set
himself to study all her moods, and began by being inoffensive to her;
in time he might be something more.

He spent four days in Eastbank, and never uttered a word of love; but
his soft soothing voice