dently did not believe me. Now I can not leave you like this,
for if you cry so you will make yourself ill; therefore, if you will
not let me go quietly, I can not go at all."

"No, no," she sobbed; "don't be so angry with me, Hugh, for I can not
bear it."

"Well, will you promise me to be a brave little woman and not fret
after me when I am gone?" he went on more gently. "It is only six
weeks, you know, Fay, and I have promised to be back in time."

"Yes, yes, I know you will," she answered, "and I will be good--indeed
I will, Hugh; only tell me you are not angry with me before you go,
and call me your Wee Wifie as you used when you first brought me
home;" and she held up her wet face to him as though she were a child
wanting to be kissed and forgiven.

"You foolish birdie," he said, laughing, but he kissed her more fondly
than he had done yet. "There, you will take care of yourself, my own
Wee Wifie, will you not, and write long letters to me, and tell me how
you are getting on."

"Yes, Hugh," she replied, quietly; and then he put her down from his
arms. She had taken the flower from his button-hole, and stood
fondling it long after he had driven off.

"Had you not better lie down, my lady?" Mrs. Heron said to her a
little while afterward, when she found her still standing in the
middle of the room; and she took hold of her gently, for she did not
like the look in my lady's eyes at all; and then she laid her down on
the couch, and never left her until she had fallen asleep, like a
child, for very trouble.

And then she went down and spoke put her mind to Janet; and the
substance of her speech might be gathered from the concluding
sentence.

"And I am sorry to say it, Janet, of any one to whom I am beholden for
the bread I eat, and whom I have known since he was a baby; but, in
spite of his bonny looks and pleasant ways, Sir Hugh is terribly
selfish; and I call it a sin and a shame for any man to leave a sweet
young creature like that at such a time. What can he expect if she
goes on fretting herself to death in this way?"

Fay could not tell why she felt so strangely weak the next, day when
she woke up, and Mrs. Heron could not tell, either. She did not fret;
she did not even seem unhappy; she was too tired for anything of that
sort, she said to herself; but day after day she lay alone in her
little room with closed eyes and listless hands; while Nero lay at her
feet wondering why his little mistress was s