ave heard
from herself a full explanation of what you are uneasy about, and if I
were at liberty to repeat it you would know that she has been dreadfully
unhappy and has endured things which would have killed most women, all
because of her loyalty and purity of heart. I think I may ask you to
give as much effect to my words as if you knew everything. Mrs. Athel is
in every respect worthy to become a member of your family.'

Her voice began to express emotion,

'Mr. Athel, _you_ are not against me? It is so hard to find no sympathy.
I have set my heart on this. Perhaps I seem to ask a great deal, but
I--have I not some little--'

'My dear Miss Redwing,' broke in Mr. Athel then, correcting himself, 'My
dear Beatrice, no words could convey the anxiety I feel to be of service
to you. You see how difficult it is for me to speak decidedly, but I
assure you that I could not possibly act in opposition to your expressed
desire. Perhaps it would be better for me to withdraw. I am sure these
ladies--'

His speech hung in mid-air, and he stood nervously tapping his fingers
with his eyeglass.

'No, please remain,' exclaimed Beatrice. 'Aunt, you are not against me?
Mrs. Birks, you won't refuse to believe what I have told you?'

The two ladies glanced at each other. In Mrs. Baxendale's look there was
appeal.

'Indeed, I believe you implicitly, my dear Beatrice,' said Mrs. Birks.
'My brother is the one to decide. You are mistaken in thinking I oppose
your wish. How could I?'

The last words were very sweetly said. With a smile which did not pass
beyond her lips, Beatrice rose from her seat and held her hand to Mr.
Athel.

'Then it is understood? When Wilfrid brings his wife to you, you receive
her with all kindness. I have your promise?'

Mr. Athel drew himself up very straight, pressed the offered hand and
said:

'It shall be as you wish.' ...

Beatrice returned with Mrs. Baxendale. Her desire to be alone was
respected during the rest of the day. Going to her the last thing at
night, her aunt was reassured; weariness had followed upon nervous
strain, and the beautiful eyes seemed longing for sleep.

But in the morning appearances were not so hopeful. The night had after
all been a troubled one: Beatrice declined breakfast and, having dressed
with effort, lay on a sofa, her eyes closed.

At noon Mrs. Baxendale came near and said gently:

'Dear, you are not going to be ill?'

The sufferer stirred a little, looked i