e would certainly come every day. To be
sure, she could not see him daily. Her duties would be in the house;
she would be a wife; people would call her 'Mrs. Grail.'

A voice whispered, a very timid, one would have said a guilty, voice,
'Who will be called 'Mrs. Egremont'?' Not once; the voice, faint as it
was, had an echo, a tingling echo from her heart outwards to the
smallest vein. Who will bear that name? Some tall, beautiful,
richly-clad lady, such as Miss Newthorpe. Was there any one who at this
moment sat alone, longing for one look of his eyes? Did ladies think
and feel in that way? or only foolish little work-girls, who all their
lives had dreamed dreams of a world that was not theirs? Did ladies
ever press down a heart beating almost to anguish and say, half-aloud,
to themselves: 'I love you!'

No; a stately life theirs, no weakness, no sense of a measureless need,
self-respect ever, and ever respect from all about them. Think of Miss
Newthorpe's face. How noble it was! How impossible that it should plead
for anything It might concede with a high, gracious smile, but not
beseech anything. That was the part of poor girls who had not been
taught, in whom it was no shame to look up to one far above them and
long--long for kindness.

The sunlight was creeping along the floor, nearer to her. Oh sun of
spring! nearer, nearer! Your warmth upon my hands, upon my face! Your
warmth upon my heart, that _something_ warm may press there!

The clocks were striking ten. It was unkind to leave Mrs. Grail alone.
The girl hired to do rough work was coming today, but for all that it
behoved her to be attentive to the good old lady, who never spoke to
her save with good, motherly words.

Yes, away with it all! She must go down and be company to Gilbert's
mother. Had she forgotten that in less than a week she would be
Gilbert's wife? A simple test: could she speak out these thoughts of
hers to Lyddy? The hot current in her veins was answer enough. And that
had been the criterion of right and wrong with her since she was a
little child. Lyddy knew the right instinctively, and never failed to
act upon her knowledge. What had been Lyddy's thoughts of Luke Ackroyd?
Perhaps not very different from these to which she had been listening;
for Lyddy too was a work-girl, not a lady. Yet the brave sister had
kept it all hidden away; more, had done her very best to bring together
Luke and someone else whom he loved. How was it possible t