ments of love. Would it not be better to wait--even for
years--and then perhaps the fierceness of Lord Chetwynde's repugnance
might be allayed? Why destroy him, and her hope, and her love,
forever, and so hastily? After such thoughts as these, however, the
remembrance of Lord Chetwynde's contempt was sure to return and
intensify her vengeance.

Under such circumstances, when distracted by so many cares, it is not
surprising that she forgot all about Mrs. Hart. She had understood
the full meaning of Gualtier's warning about her prospective
recovery, but the danger passed from her mind. Gualtier had gone on
his errand, and she was sure he would not falter. Shut up in her own
chamber, she awaited in deep agitation the first tidings which he
might send. Day succeeded to day; no tidings came; and at last she
began to hope that he had failed--and the pleasantest sight which she
could have seen at that time would have been Gualtier returning
disappointed and baffled.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hart, left to herself, steadily and rapidly
recovered. Ever since her first recognition of Lord Chetwynde her
improvement had been marked. New ideas seemed to have come to her;
new motives for life; and with these the desire of life; and at the
promptings of that desire health came back. This poor creature, even
in the best days of her life at Chetwynde Castle, had not known any
health beyond that of a moderate kind; and so a moderate recovery
would suffice to give her what strength she had lost. To be able to
wander about the house once more was all that she needed, and this
was not long denied her.

In a few days after Gualtier's departure she was able to go about.
She walked through the old familiar scenes, traversed the well-known
halls, and surveyed the well-remembered apartments. One journey was
enough for the first day. The next day she went about the grounds,
and visited the chapel, where she sat for hours on the Earl's tomb,
wrapped in an absorbing meditation. Two or three days passed on, and
she walked about as she used to. And now a strong desire seized her
to see that wife of Lord Chetwynde whom she so dearly loved and so
fondly remembered. She wondered that Lady Chetwynde had not come to
see her. She was informed that Lady Chetwynde was ill. A deep
sympathy then arose in her heart for the poor friendless lady--the
fair girl whom she remembered--and whom she now pictured to herself
as bereaved of her father, and scorned by her husb