am going to write a note to Mrs. Meadowsweet," she said, after a
minute or two. "I know Beatrice is coming here this afternoon. It would
give me pleasure if her mother accompanied her."

"Shall we take the note to the Gray House, mother?" eagerly asked Mabel.
"It is not too long a walk. We should like to go."

"No, my dear. You and Kate can amuse yourselves in the garden, or read
in the house, just as you please. I will write my note quietly, and when
it is written take it down to Tester at the lodge. No, thank you, my
loves, I should really like the walk, and would prefer to take it
alone."

Mrs. Bertram then returned to her drawing-room, sat down by her
davenport, and wrote as follows:

"Rosendale Manor.

"Thursday.

"Dear Mrs. Meadowsweet,--Will you and Miss Beatrice join the girls
and me at dinner this afternoon? Your daughter has already kindly
promised to come here to play tennis to-day--at least I understand
from Kate that such is the arrangement. Will you come with her? We
old people can sit quietly under the shade of the trees and enjoy
our tea, while the young folks exert themselves. Hoping to see you
both,

"Believe me,

"Yours sincerely,

"Catherine de Clifford Bertram."

Mrs. Bertram put this letter into an envelope, directed it in her
dashing and lady-like hand, and then in a slow and stately fashion
proceeded to walk down the avenue to the lodge. She was always rather
slow in her movements, and she was slower than usual to-day. She
scarcely owned to herself that she was tired, worried--in short, that
the strong vitality within her was sapped at its foundation.

A man or a woman can often live for a long time after this operation
takes place, but they are never the same again. They go slowly, with the
gait of those who are halt, through life.

Mrs. Bertram reached the lodge, and after the imperious fashion of her
class did not even knock at the closed door before she lifted the latch
and went in.

It was a shabby, little, tumble-down lodge. It needed papering, and
white-washing, and cleaning; in winter the roof let in rain, and the
rickety, ill-fitting windows admitted the cold and wind. Now, however,
it was the middle of summer. Virginia creeper and ivy, honeysuckle and
jasmine, nearly covered the walls. The little place looked picturesque
without; and within, honest, hard-working Mrs. Tester contrived with
plentiful scouring and washing to give a clean and cosy