eep her in a state of
perpetual repression, shutting her out from all your little confidences,
you will find that the curiosity so natural to her age will be sure to
burst out, after such bottling, in alarming effervescence. As soon as
Hardy's unmistakable footsteps were heard on the stairs, she had left
the drawing-room on a hint from Audrey. In her room above she had heard
the alternate booming and buzzing of their voices prolonged far into the
night, but could make out no intelligible sounds. To ears tingling with
prophetic apprehension the provocation was intense.

The old lady passed a restless night, and came down to breakfast the
next morning quivering with suppressed excitement. Audrey's face did not
inspire confidence; and it was not until she had touched lightly on the
state of the weather, and other topics of general interest, that Miss
Craven darted irrelevantly to her point.

"My dear, is there anything between you and your--er--cousin Mr. Hardy?"

The awful question hung in the air without a context, while Audrey went
on making tea. This she did with a graceful and deliberate precision,
completing the delicate operation before answering.

"Yes, there is a great deal between me and my cousin Mr. Hardy, which
neither of us can get over."

There was a freezing finality in the manner of the reply, in spite of
the smile which accompanied it; and even Miss Craven could not fail to
understand. She bridled a little, wrapping herself closer in her soft
shawl as in an impenetrable husk of reserve, and began nervously
buttering toast. The whole thing was very odd; but then the ways of
Audrey were inscrutable.

Audrey herself felt an unspeakable relief after that question and her
own inspired answer. Last night she had possibly been ambiguous; to-day,
at any rate, her words had a trenchant force which severed one of the
thousand little threads that bound her to Hardy. After all, when it came
to the point, there was an immense amount of decision in her character.
And as the days went on, and Hardy with them, leaving league after
league of the Atlantic behind him, the load at her heart grew lighter;
and when at last the letter came which told her that he had crossed the
Rocky Mountains, she felt with a little tremor of delight that she was a
free woman once more. Her world was all before her, vaguely alluring,
as it had been a month ago.

The letters which Hardy sent from time to time had no power to destroy
thi