separation,
under such strange circumstances, and with a common fear and anxiety
at heart, could not but have the effect of arousing in the mind of Mr.
Dinneford the deepest concern for the unhappy man. He saw the new peril
into which he was thrown by the loss of Andy, and made it his first
business to surround him with all possible good and strengthening
influences. So the old memories awakened by the coming of Andy did not
fade out and lose their power over the man. He had taken hold of the
good past again, and still held to it with the tight grasp of one
conscious of danger.

"We shall find the child--no fear of that," Mr. Dinneford would say to
him over and over again, trying to comfort his own heart as well, as
the days went by and no little Andy could be found. "The police have the
girl under the sharpest surveillance, and she cannot baffle them much
longer."

George Granger left the asylum with his friends, and dropped out
of sight. He did not show himself in the old places nor renew old
associations. He was too deeply hurt. The disaster had been too great
for any attempt on his part at repairing the old dwelling-places of his
life. His was not what we call a strong nature, but he was susceptible
of very deep impressions. He was fine and sensitive, rather than strong.
Rejected by his wife and family without a single interview with her or
even an opportunity to assert his innocence, he felt the wrong so deeply
that he could not get over it. His love for his wife had been profound
and tender, and when it became known to him that she had accepted the
appearances of guilt as conclusive, and broken with her own hands the
tie that bound them, it was more than he had strength to bear, and a
long time passed before he rallied from this hardest blow of all.

Edith knew that her father had seen Granger after securing his pardon,
and she had learned from him only, particulars of the interview. Beyond
this nothing came to her. She stilled her heart, aching with the
old love that crowded all its chambers, and tried to be patient and
submissive. It was very hard. But she was helpless. Sometimes, in the
anguish and wild agitation of soul that seized her, she would resolve
to put in a letter all she thought and felt, and have it conveyed to
Granger; but fear and womanly delicacy drove her back from this. What
hope had she that he would not reject her with hatred and scorn? It was
a venture she dared not make, for she felt th