tion of her loneliness. Some change in
her life there must be. Sudden hope had in a day or two brought to full
growth the causes of unrest which would otherwise have developed slowly.

It seemed to be her fate to live in pretences. As the mistress of
Redbeck House, and the light of dissenting piety in Bartles, she knew
herself for less than she wished to appear to others; not a hypocrite,
indeed, but a pretender to extraordinary zeal, and at the same time a
flagrant instance of spiritual pride. Now she was guilty of like
simulation directed to a contrary end. In truth neither bond nor free,
she could not suffer herself to seem less liberal-minded than those
with whom she associated. And yet her soul was weary of untruth. The
one need of her life was to taste the happiness of submission to a
stronger than herself. Religious devotion is the resource of women in
general who suffer thus and are denied the natural solace; but for
Miriam it was impossible. Her temperament was not devout, and, however
persistent the visitings of uneasy conscience, she had no longer the
power of making her old beliefs a reality. The abstract would not avail
her; philosophic comforts had as little to say to her as the Churches'
creeds. Only by a strong human band could she be raised from her
unworthy position and led into the way of sincerity.

She had counted on having another morning with Mallard before Cecily's
arrival. Disappointed in this hope, she invented a variety of
tormenting reasons for Mallard's behaviour. As there was a chance of
his calling at the hotel, she stayed in all day. But he did not come.
The next afternoon Mrs. Lessingham and her companion reached Rome.

It was known that Cecily's health had suffered from her watchings by
the sick child, and from her grief at its death; so no one was
surprised at finding her rather thin-faced. She had a warm greeting for
her friends, and seemed happy to be with them again; but the brightness
of the first hour was not sustained. Conversation cost her a
perceptible effort; she seldom talked freely of anything, and generally
with an unnatural weighing of her words, an artificiality of thought
and phrase, which was a great contrast to the spontaneousness of former
times. When Eleanor wanted her to speak about herself, she preferred to
tell of what she had lately read or heard or seen. That the simple
grace of the girl should be modified in the wife and mother was of
course to be expected, b