people will talk of Edwin and his books.
I am deeply grateful to Mr Mortimer for having undertaken to republish
those two novels; if you have an opportunity, will you do me the great
kindness to thank him on my behalf? At the same time, I must remember
that it was you who first spoke to him on this subject. You say that it
gladdens you to think Edwin will not be forgotten, and I am very sure
that the friendly office you have so admirably performed will in itself
reward you more than any poor expression of gratitude from me. I write
hurriedly, anxious to let you hear as soon as possible.

'Believe me, dear Mr Milvain,

'Yours sincerely,

'AMY REARDON.'

CHAPTER XXXIV. A CHECK

Marian was at work as usual in the Reading-room. She did her best,
during the hours spent here, to convert herself into the literary
machine which it was her hope would some day be invented for
construction in a less sensitive material than human tissue. Her eyes
seldom strayed beyond the limits of the desk; and if she had occasion to
rise and go to the reference shelves, she looked at no one on the way.
Yet she herself was occasionally an object of interested regard. Several
readers were acquainted with the chief facts of her position; they knew
that her father was now incapable of work, and was waiting till his
diseased eyes should be ready for the operator; it was surmised,
moreover, that a good deal depended upon the girl's literary exertions.
Mr Quarmby and his gossips naturally took the darkest view of things;
they were convinced that Alfred Yule could never recover his sight,
and they had a dolorous satisfaction in relating the story of Marian's
legacy. Of her relations with Jasper Milvain none of these persons had
heard; Yule had never spoken of that matter to any one of his friends.

Jasper had to look in this morning for a hurried consultation of certain
encyclopaedic volumes, and it chanced that Marian was standing before
the shelves to which his business led him. He saw her from a little
distance, and paused; it seemed as if he would turn back; for a moment
he wore a look of doubt and worry. But after all he proceeded. At the
sound of his 'Good-morning,' Marian started--she was standing with an
open book in hand--and looked up with a gleam of joy on her face.

'I wanted to see you to-day,' she said, subduing her voice to the tone
of ordinary conversation. 'I should have come this evening.'

'You wouldn't have found me at ho