answer to make to this. She could not defend
her father, because by doing so she would offend her husband. And yet
her whole life-long trust in her father could not allow her to think
it possible that he should behave ill to them.

On their arrival at Florence he went at once to the post-office, but
there was as yet no letter. The fortnight, however, which had been
named had only just run itself out. They went on from day to day
inspecting buildings, looking at pictures, making for themselves
a taste in marble and bronze, visiting the lovely villages which
cluster on the hills round the city,--doing precisely in this respect
as do all young married couples who devote a part of their honeymoon
to Florence;--but in all their little journeyings and in all their
work of pleasure the inky devil sat not only behind him but behind
her also. The heavy care of life was already beginning to work
furrows on her face. She would already sit, knitting her brow, as she
thought of coming troubles. Would not her father certainly refuse?
And would not her husband then begin to be less loving and less
gracious to herself?

Every day for a week he called at the post-office when he went out
with her, and still the letter did not come. "It can hardly be
possible," he said at last to her, "that he should decline to answer
his own daughter's letter."

"Perhaps he is ill," she replied.

"If there were anything of that kind Everett would tell us."

"Perhaps he has gone back to Herefordshire?"

"Of course his letter would go after him. I own it is very singular
to me that he should not write. It looks as though he were determined
to cast you off from him altogether because you have married against
his wishes."

"Not that, Ferdinand;--do not say that!"

"Well; we shall see."

And on the next day they did see. He went to the post-office before
breakfast, and on this day he returned with a letter in his hand.
She was sitting waiting for him with a book in her lap, and saw the
letter at once. "Is it from papa?" she said. He nodded his head as
he handed it to her. "Open it and read it, Ferdinand. I have got
to be so nervous about it, that I cannot do it. It seems to be so
important."

"Yes;--it is important," he said with a grim smile, and then he
opened the letter. She watched his face closely as he read it, and at
first she could tell nothing from it. Then, in that moment, it first
occurred to her that he had a wonderful command of hi