hat was habitual to her. Agatha hung
round her neck, and kissed her into smiles.

"Now," she said, rising, "let us both go to bed. You look tired, my
child, and we must have your very best looks when you make breakfast for
_them_ in the morning. That is, if they both come here."

"They will come--my husband says so. He knows, and is determined that
Uncle Brian shall know--everything."

Anne sat still--so still, that her young companion was afraid she had
vexed her.

"No, dear--not vexed. But no human being can know everything! It lies
between him and me--and God."

So saying, she rose, fastened up the long hair in which the last
lingering beauty of her youth lay--put on her little close cap, and was
again the composed gentle lady of middle age.

She rung for the housekeeper, and gave various orders for the morning,
desiring a few trivial additions to the breakfast, which would have made
Agatha smile, but that she noted a slight hesitation in the voice that
ordered them.

"Is there anything your husband would like especially? I don't quite
understand his ways."

Agatha blushed as she answered--"Nor I."

"You will not answer so in a few months hence," said Anne, when they
were alone. "It is a very unromantic doctrine, but few young wives know
how much the happiness of a home depends on little things--that is, if
anything can be little which is done for _his_ comfort, and is pleasant
to _him_. There's a lecture for you, Mistress Agatha. Now go to bed, and
rise in the morning to begin a new era, as the happiest and best wife in
all England."

"I will," cried Agatha, laughing, though with a tear or two in her eyes.
To think how much Anne had guessed of the wretched past, yet, with true
delicacy, how entirely she had concealed that knowledge!

They embraced silently, and then Miss Valery went into her own room,
where, year after year, when all the duties and cheerfulness of the day
were done, the solitary woman had shut herself in--alone with her own
heart and with God. The young wife stood and looked with thoughtful
reverence at the closed door of that room.

It was eleven o'clock, yet somehow Mrs. Harper did not feel inclined to
go to bed. She had too many things to think of, too many plans to make
and resolutions to form. Her life must settle itself calmly now. Its
trouble, tumult, and uncertainty were over. She felt quite sure of her
husband's goodness--of his deep and tender love for herself--nay, also
of