ver cross with Ruth--why, she could not have told; and when
she had been cross to Dorothy, she was sorry for it. She never said she
was sorry, but she tried to make up for it. Her husband had not taught
her the virtue, both for relief and purification, that lies in the
_acknowledgment_ of wrong. To take up blame that is our own, is to
wither the very root of it.

Juliet was pleased at the near prospect of the change, for she had
naturally dreaded being ill in the limited accommodation of the lodge.
She formally thanked the two crushed and rumpled little angels, begged
them to visit her often, and proceeded to make her very small
preparations with a fitful cheerfulness. Something might come of the
change, she flattered herself. She had always indulged a vague fancy
that Dorothy was devising help for her; and it was in part the
disappointment of nothing having yet justified the expectation, that had
spoiled her behavior to her. But for a long time Dorothy had been
talking of Paul in a different tone, and that very morning had spoken of
him even with some admiration: it might be a prelude to something! Most
likely Dorothy knew more than she chose to say! She dared ask no
question for the dread of finding herself mistaken. She preferred the
ignorance that left room for hope. But she did not like all Dorothy said
in his praise; for her tone, if not her words, seemed to imply some kind
of change in him. He might have his faults, she said to herself, like
other men, but she had not yet discovered them; and any change would, in
her eyes, be for the worse. Would she ever see her own old Paul again?

One day as Faber was riding at a good round trot along one of the back
streets of Glaston, approaching his own house, he saw Amanda, who still
took every opportunity of darting out at an open door, running to him
with outstretched arms, right in the face of Niger, just as if she
expected the horse to stop and take her up. Unable to trust him so well
as his dear old Ruber, he dismounted, and taking her in his arms, led
Niger to his stable. He learned from her that she was staying with the
Wingfolds, and took her home, after which his visits to the rectory were
frequent.

The Wingfolds could not fail to remark the tenderness with which he
regarded the child. Indeed it soon became clear that it was for her sake
he came to them. The change that had begun in him, the loss of his
self-regard following on the loss of Juliet, had left a gr