s.
Derrick looking much like her wonted self.

She went about so, all the day; nervously busy, though never more
orderly about her business. In the kitchen and dairy and storeroom, and
with her mother, Faith seemed as usual, with a very little of grave
thoughtfulness or remembrance thrown over her natural pleasantness;
only she gave books a wide berth, and took care to see no face that
came to the house. One would have thought her--perhaps Mrs. Derrick
even did--quietly composed and patiently submitting to trial, as if Mr.
Linden had been already weeks away. Perhaps Faith herself thought so. A
little thing shewed how much this quiet was worth.

The day had been gone through; the tea was over, as it might, with the
two alone; and mother and daughter had gone into the other room. Faith
lit the lamp, and then began a sentence to her mother about laying the
Bible in its place for prayer--when she stopped short. For a moment she
stood still with the revulsion; then she fell on her knees and hid her
face in Mrs. Derrick's lap, and the tears that had kept back so long
came in a stormy flood; clearing the sky which had not been clear
before. She was quiet really after that; she had no more fear of her
books; and the first thing Faith did was to take pen and paper and pour
out an answer to her morning's letter; an answer in which she gave Mr.
Linden the history of her whole day, with very little reservation.

Her mother watched her,--sat and looked at her as she wrote, with eyes
very glistening and tremulous in their fond admiration. Indeed that had
been their character all day, though Mrs. Derrick had followed Faith in
her busy work, with no attempt to check her, with no allusion to what
they both thought of uninterruptedly. Now, however, that Faith's tears
had made their own way, her mother's heart was easier; and she watched
the pretty writer by the lamp with all sorts of sweet and tender
thoughts.

A day or two passed, in great quiet and tender ministering to each
other of the mother and daughter. Faith had taken deep hold of her
studies again and every minute of the day was filled up as busily as
ever. So the sitting-room wore in all things minus one its wonted
aspect, when, the third evening, it received Dr. Harrison.

He came in looking remarkably well, in his light dainty summer dress,
and with that gentle carelessness of movement and manner that suited
the relaxing persuasions of a hot summer day. He came in, too,