hers forever, had to be left, because she felt that she was not
wanted there. She went about the grounds, visited every favorite
haunt and nook--the spots endeared to her by the remembrance of many
happy hours passed among them--and her tears flowed fast and bitterly
as she thought that she was now seeing them for the last time. The
whole of the last day at Chetwynde she passed in the little church,
under which every Molyneux had been buried for centuries back. It was
full of their marble effigies. Often had she watched the sunlight
flickering over their pale sculptured faces. One of these forms had
been her especial delight; for she could trace in his features a
strong family resemblance to Lord Chetwynde. This one's name was Guy.
Formerly she used to see a likeness between him and the Guy who was
now alive. He had died in the Holy Land; but his bones had been
brought home, that they might rest in the family vault. She had been
fond of weaving romances as to his probable history and fate; but no
thought of him was in her mind to-day, as she wept over the
resting-place of one who had filled a father's place to her, or as
she knelt and prayed in her desolation to Him who has promised to be
a father to the fatherless. Earnestly did she entreat that His
presence might be with her, His providence direct her lonely way.
Poor child! In the wild impulsiveness of her nature she thought that
the sacrifice which she was making of herself and her hopes must be
acceptable to Him, and pleasing in His sight. She did not know that
she was merely following her own will, and turning her back upon the
path of duty. That duty lay in simple acceptance of the fate which
seemed ordained for her, whether for good or evil. Happy marriages
were never promised by Him; and, in flying from one which seemed to
promise unhappiness, she forgot that "obedience is better than
sacrifice," even though the sacrifice be that of one's self.

Twilight was fast closing in before she reached the castle, exhausted
from the violence of her emotion, and faint and weak from her long
fasting. Hilda expressed alarm at her protracted absence, and said
that she was just about going in search of her. "My darling," said
she, "you will wear away your strength. You are too weak now to
leave. Let me urge you, for the last time, to stay; give up your mad
resolution."

"No," said Zillah. "You know you yourself said that I was right."

"I did not say that you were right,