o her; and she was allowed to see no one else except her aunt and the
dear old nurse, whose tears for her child Margaret had been checked by
the urgent requirements of another of her nurslings; and whom George
Rivers would have paid with her weight in gold, for taking care of his
new daughter, regarding her as the only woman in the world that could be
trusted.

Those were heavy days with every one, though each brought some shade of
improvement. They were harder to bear than the peaceful days that had
immediately followed the loss of Margaret; and Ethel was especially
unhappy and forlorn under the new anxiety, where she could be of no
service; and with her precious occupation gone; her father absent,
instead of resting upon her; and her room deserted. She was grieved
with herself, because her feelings were unable to soar at the Christmas
Feast, as erst on St. Andrew's Day; and she was bewildered and
distressed by the fear that she had then been only uplifted by vanity
and elation.

She told Richard so, and he said, kindly, that he thought a good deal of
that she complained of arose from bodily weariness.

This hurt her a little; but when he said, "I think that the blessings of
St. Andrew's Day helped us through what was to follow," she owned that
it had indeed been so, and added, "I am going to work again! Tell me
what will be most useful to you at Cocksmoor."

Sick at heart as she was, she bravely set herself to appropriate the
hours now left vacant; and manfully walked with Richard and Harry to
church at Cocksmoor on St. Stephen's Day; but the church brought back
the sense of contrast. Next, she insisted on fulfilling their
intention of coming home by Abbotstoke to hear how Flora was, when the
unfavourable account only added lead to the burden that weighed her
down. Though they were sent home in the carriage, she was so completely
spent, that the effect of returning home to her room, without its dear
inhabitant, was quite overwhelming, and she sat on her bed for half
an hour, struggling with repinings. She came downstairs without having
gained the victory, and was so physically overcome with lassitude, that
Richard insisted on her lying on the sofa, and leaving everything to him
and Mary.

Richard seemed to make her his object in life, and was an unspeakable
help and comforter to her, not only by taking every care for her for her
sake, but by turning to her as his own friend and confidante, the best
able to repla