l meanings for her to remember over her work; in the
morning she would not wake and say, "Perhaps he will come to-day;" no
footstep would make her heart beat more quickly; that springy tread
would never sound on the stairs again. He was gone out of her life,
this friend of hers, with his merry laugh and his boyish ways, and
that pleasant sympathy that was always ready for her.

Fern had never imagined that such sad possibilities could wither up
the sweet bloom of youthful promise; she had never felt really
miserable except when her father died, and then she had been only a
child. She wondered in a dreary, incredulous way if this was all life
meant to bring her--every day a little teaching, a little work, quiet
evenings with her mother, long streets that seem to lead nowhere; no
meadows, no flowers, no pretty things except in the shop windows;
would she still live over Mrs. Watkins's when she was an old woman?

"Oh, how empty and mean it all seems," she moaned, tossing restlessly
on her hot pillow.

"Are you awake still, my darling?" asked her mother, tenderly. Some
instinctive sympathy had led her to her child's door, and she had
heard that impatient little speech. "What is the matter, dearest; you
will tell your mother, will you not?"

"Oh, mother, why have you come? I never meant you to know." But here
she broke down, and clasped her mother's neck convulsively. "I am
glad--I will be glad that he is so happy; but oh, mother, I want him
so--I want him so." And then Mrs. Trafford knew that the wound was
deep--very deep indeed.

CHAPTER XXIX.

A GLIMPSE OF THE DARK VALLEY.

Not alone unkindness
Rends a woman's heart;
Oft through subtler piercings
Wives and mothers die.

Though the cord of silver
Never feel a strain;
Though the golden language
Cease not where ye dwell,
Yet remaineth something
Which, with its own pain,
Breaks the finer bosom
Whence true love doth well.

O this life, how pleasant
To be loved and love,
Yet should love's hope wither
Then to die were well.

PHILIP STANHOPE WORSLEY.

Every one noticed at the Hall that Lady Redmond was sadly altered in
those days--every one but one, and that was her husband.

Had Sir Hugh's indifference made him blind? for he completely ignored
the idea of any change in her. She was pale and thin--very thin, they
told him. Hugh said he supposed it was only natural; and when th