orth he made it his
study, in a quiet, unobtrusive manner, scarcely known even to his
brother, but gradually resulting in heart-whole acceptance of faith,
and therewith in full devotion of heart and soul.

Did Harold rejoice in that victory, which to him would have been one of
the dearest of all?

CHAPTER XVI.

CONCLUSION.

I must finish my story, though it seems hardly worth telling, since my
nephew, my tower of strength and trust, had suddenly sunk away from me
in the prime of his manhood.

The light seemed gone out of the whole world, and my heart felt dull
and dead, as if I could never heed or care for anything again. Even
Dermot's illness did not seem capable of stirring me to active anxiety
in this crushed, stupid state, with no one to speak to of what lay
heavy on my heart, no one even to write to; for who would venture to
read my letters? nay, I had not energy even to write to poor Miss
Woolmer. We got into a way of going on day after day with Dora's
little meals, the backgammon, and the Mayne Reid, till sometimes it
felt as if it had always been thus with us from all time, and always
would be; and at others it would seem as if it were a dream, and that
if I could but wake, I should be making tea for Harold in our cheerful
little drawing-room at Mount Eaton. At last I had almost a morbid
dread of breaking up this monotonous life, and having to think what to
do or where to go. The Randall Horsmans must long for our departure,
and my own house was in a state of purification, and uninhabitable.

The doctor said that Dora must be moved as soon as it could be managed,
for in that London attic she could have no impulse towards recovery;
and while it still seemed a fearful risk, he sent us off to St.
Clement's, a little village on the south coast, where he knew of rooms
in a great old manor-house which had sunk to farmer's use, and had a
master and mistress proof against infection.

When I brought my tired, worn-out, fretting charge in through the great
draughty porch, and was led up the old shallow oak stairs to a big
panelled room, clean and scantily furnished, where the rats ran about
behind the wainscot, and a rain-laden branch of monthly rose went tap,
tap against the window, and a dog howled all night long, I thought we
had come to a miserable place at the end of the earth. I thought so
still the next morning, when the mist lay in white rolls and curls
round the house; and the sea, when we ha