s. Lovell.

CHAPTER VII

Rhoda returned home the heavier for a secret that she bore with her. All
through the first night of her sleeping in London, Dahlia's sobs, and
tender hugs, and self-reproaches, had penetrated her dreams, and when
the morning came she had scarcely to learn that Dahlia loved some one.
The confession was made; but his name was reserved. Dahlia spoke of him
with such sacredness of respect that she seemed lost in him, and like a
creature kissing his feet. With tears rolling down her cheeks, and with
moans of anguish, she spoke of the deliciousness of loving: of knowing
one to whom she abandoned her will and her destiny, until, seeing how
beautiful a bloom love threw upon the tearful worn face of her sister,
Rhoda was impressed by a mystical veneration for this man, and readily
believed him to be above all other men, if not superhuman: for she was
of an age and an imagination to conceive a spiritual pre-eminence over
the weakness of mortality. She thought that one who could so transform
her sister, touch her with awe, and give her gracefulness and humility,
must be what Dahlia said he was. She asked shyly for his Christian name;
but even so little Dahlia withheld. It was his wish that Dahlia should
keep silence concerning him.

"Have you sworn an oath?" said Rhoda, wonderingly.

"No, dear love," Dahlia replied; "he only mentioned what he desired."

Rhoda was ashamed of herself for thinking it strange, and she
surrendered her judgement to be stamped by the one who knew him well.

As regarded her uncle, Dahlia admitted that she had behaved forgetfully
and unkindly, and promised amendment. She talked of the Farm as of an
old ruin, with nothing but a thin shade of memory threading its walls,
and appeared to marvel vaguely that it stood yet. "Father shall not
always want money," she said. She was particular in prescribing books
for Rhoda to read; good authors, she emphasized, and named books of
history, and poets, and quoted their verses. "For my darling will some
day have a dear husband, and he must not look down on her." Rhoda
shook her head, full sure that she could never be brought to utter such
musical words naturally. "Yes, dearest, when you know what love is,"
said Dahlia, in an underbreath.

Could Robert inspire her with the power? Rhoda looked upon that poor
homely young man half-curiously when she returned, and quite dismissed
the notion. Besides she had no feeling for herself. Her p