s, she became as
certain of this as though some one had actually told her of his
departure. Then there came over her a mighty sense of desolation.
What should she do now? Life seemed in that instant to have lost all
its sweetness and its meaning. Again there came to her that thought
which many times during the last few weeks had occurred, and now had
grown familiar--the awful thought of suicide. The life she lived had
already grown almost intolerable from its unfulfilled wishes, and its
longings against hope; but now the last hope had departed, and life
itself was nothing but a burden. Should she not lay it down?

So the night passed, and the morning came, but through all that night
sleep came not. And the dawn came, and the hours of the day passed
by, but she sat motionless. The servants came, but were sent away;
and this woman of feeling and of passion, who once had risen superior
to all feeling, now lay a prey to an agony of soul that threatened
reason and life itself.

But suddenly all this was brought to an end. At about mid-day Lord
Chetwynde returned. Hilda heard his footstep and his voice. A great
joy darted through her, and her first impulse was to fling herself
upon him, and weep tears of happiness upon his breast. But that was a
thing which was denied her--a privilege which might never be hers.
After the first wild impulse and the first rush of joy she restrained
herself, and, locking the door of her room, she sat listening with
quick and heavy breathing. She heard him speak a few careless words
to the servant. She heard him go to his room, where he staid for
about an hour. She watched and waited, but restrained every impulse
to go out. "I have tormented him too much," she said to herself. "I
have forced myself upon him; I have made myself common. A greater
delicacy and a more retiring habit will be more agreeable to him.
Let me not destroy my present happiness. It is joy enough that my
fears are dispersed, and that he has not yet left me." So she
restrained herself--though that self-restraint was the mightest task
which she had ever undertaken--and sat passively listening, when
every feeling prompted her to rush forth eagerly to greet him.

He went away that day, and came back by midnight. Hilda did not
trouble him, and they met on the following morning.

Now, at the first glance which she stole at him, she noted in him a
wonderful change. His face had lost its gloom; there was an
expression of peace an