all. Oh! oh! oh! Forgive me for crying so."

"Well, I dare say there are associations about this place that upset
you. I shall go and make ready for you, dear; and then you can come as
soon as you like."

He bestowed a paternal kiss on her brow, and glided doucely away before
she could possibly cry again.

The very next week Rosa was at Kent Villa, with the relics of her
husband about her; his chair, his writing-table, his clock, his
waste-paper basket, a very deep and large one. She had them all in her
bedroom at Kent Villa.

Here the days glided quietly but heavily.

She derived some comfort from Uncle Philip. His rough, friendly way was
a tonic, and braced her. He called several times about the Bijou. Told
her he had put up enormous boards all over the house, and puffed it
finely. "I have had a hundred agents at me," said he; "and the next
thing, I hope, will be one customer; that is about the proportion."
At last he wrote her he had hooked a victim, and sold the lease and
furniture for nine hundred guineas. Staines had assigned the lease to
Rosa, so she had full powers; and Philip invested the money, and two
hundred more she gave him, in a little mortgage at six per cent.

Now came the letter from Madeira. It gave her new life. Christopher
was well, contented, hopeful. His example should animate her. She would
bravely bear the present, and share his hopes of the future: with
these brighter views Nature co-operated. The instincts of approaching
maternity brightened the future. She fell into gentle reveries, and saw
her husband return, and saw herself place their infant in his arms with
all a wife's, a mother's pride.

In due course came another long letter from the equator, with a
full journal, and more words of hope. Home in less than a year, with
reputation increased by this last cure; home, to part no more.

Ah! what a changed wife he should find! how frugal, how candid, how full
of appreciation, admiration, and love, of the noblest, dearest husband
that ever breathed!

Lady Cicely Treherne waited some weeks, to let kinder sentiments return.
She then called in Dear Street, but found Mrs. Staines was gone to
Gravesend. She wrote to her.

In a few days she received a reply, studiously polite and cold.

This persistent injustice mortified her at last. She said to herself,
"Does she think his departure was no loss to ME? It was to her
interests, as well as his, I sacrificed my own selfish wishes. I will