e, for she
shivered slightly, said something, and they began to go down the steps,
the wife supported by her husband's arm as though she needed the
assistance. The footman held open the carriage door, but Helen paused.
Anne could see her slender foot, in its little winter boot, put out, and
then withdrawn, as though she felt herself unable to take the step. Then
her husband lifted her in his arms and placed her in the carriage
himself, took his place beside her, and the man closed the door. In
another minute the sexton had brought the prayer-book, and the carriage
rolled away. Anne came out from her hiding-place. The vision was gone.

Again she walked at random through the streets, unheeding where she was.
She knew that she had broken her compact with herself--broken it
utterly. Of what avail now the long months during which she had not
allowed herself to enter the street or the neighborhood where Helen
lived? Of what avail that she had not allowed herself to listen to one
word concerning them when Mr. Dexter stood ready to tell all? She had
looked at them--looked at them voluntarily and long; had gone back to
the church door to look at them, to look again at the face for a sight
of which her whole heart hungered.

She had broken her vow. In addition, the mist over her blind eyes was
dissolved. He had never loved her; it had been but a passing fancy. It
was best so. Yet, oh, how easy all the past now seemed, in spite of its
loneliness, toil, and care! For _then_ she had believed that she was
loved. She began to realize that until this moment she had never really
given up her own will at all, but had held on through all to this inward
belief, which had made her lonely life warm with its hidden secret
light. She had thought herself noble, and she had been but selfish; she
had thought herself self-controlled, and she had been following her own
will; she had thought herself humble, and here she was, maddened by
humiliated jealous pride.

At last, worn out with weariness, she went homeward to the half-house as
twilight fell. In the morning the ground was white with snow again, and
the tumultuous winds of March were careering through the sky, whipping
the sleet and hail before them as they flew along; the strange halcyon
sunshine was gone, and a second winter upon them. And Anne felt that a
winter such as she had never known before was in her heart also.

CHAPTER XXX.

"O eloquent and mightie Death! thou hast