d_. His heart had been affected, and he had died from a
sudden spasm. It was only through the care of Miss Krieff that the
Earl had lived so long.

But so great was Hilda's distress that Zillah had to devote herself
to the task of soothing her.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A LETTER AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

Some weeks passed, and Zillah's grief gradually became lessened. She
was far better able to bear this blow at this time than that first
crushing blow which a few years before had descended so suddenly upon
her young life. She began to rally and to look forward to the future.
Guy had been written to, not by her, but, as usual, by Hilda, in her
name. The news of her father's death had been broken to him as
delicately as possible. Hilda read it to Zillah, who, after a few
changes of expression, approved of it. This letter had the effect of
impressing upon Zillah's mind the fact that Guy must soon come home.
The absence must cease. In any case it could not last much longer.
Either she would have had to join him, or he come back to her. The
prospect of his arrival now stood before her, and the question arose
how to meet it. Was it welcome or unpleasant? After all, was he not a
noble character, and a valiant soldier--the son of a dear friend?
Zillah's woman's heart judged him not harshly, and much of her
thought was taken up with conjectures as to the probable results of
that return. She began at length to look forward to it with hope; and
to think that she might be happy with such a man for her husband. The
only thing that troubled her was the idea that any man, however
noble, should have the right of claiming her as his without the
preliminary wooing. To a delicate nature this was intolerable, and
she could only trust that he would be acceptable to her on his first
appearance.

In the midst of these thoughts a letter arrived from Guy, addressed
to that one who was now beyond its reach. Zillah opened this without
hesitation, for Lord Chetwynde had always been in the habit of
handing them to her directly he had read them.

Few things connected with those whom we have loved and lost are more
painful, where all is so exquisitely painful, than the reading of
letters by them or to them. The most trivial commonplaces--the
lightest expressions of regard--are all invested with the tenderest
pathos, and from our hearts there seems rung out at every line the
despairing refrain of "nevermore--nevermore." It was thus, and with
ble