er companions; and she was so eager
to improve herself, by means of her reading-lessons and writing-lessons,
that it was not easy to induce her to lay aside her book and her slate.
When the teacher offered her some small reward for her good conduct,
and asked what she would like, the sad little face brightened, and the
faithful creature's answer was always the same--"I should like to know
what he is doing now." (Alas for Sally!--"he" meant Amelius.)

"You must wait a little longer before you write to her," Mrs. Payson
concluded, "and you must not think of seeing her for some time to come.
I know you will help us by consenting to this--for Sally's sake."

Amelius bowed in silence. He would not have confessed what he felt, at
that moment, to any living soul--it is doubtful if he even confessed
it to himself. Mrs. Payson, observing him with a woman's keen sympathy,
relented a little. "I might give her a message," the good lady
suggested--"just to say you are glad to hear she is behaving so well."

"Will you give her this?" Amelius asked.

He took from his pocket a little photograph of the cottage, which he had
noticed on the house-agent's desk, and had taken away with him. "It is
_my_ cottage now," he explained, in tones that faltered a little; "I am
going to live there; Sally might like to see it."

"Sally _shall_ see it," Mrs. Payson agreed--"if you will only let
me take this away first." She pointed to the address of the cottage,
printed under the photograph. Past experience in the Home made her
reluctant to trust Sally with the address in London at which Amelius was
to be found.

Rufus produced a huge complex knife, out of the depths of which a pair
of scissors burst on touching a spring. Mrs. Payson cut off the address,
and placed the photograph in her pocket-book. "Now," she said, "Sally
will be happy, and no harm can come of it."

"I've known you, ma'am, nigh on twenty years," Rufus remarked. "I do
assure you that's the first rash observation I ever heard from your
lips."

BOOK THE SEVENTH. THE VANISHING HOPES

CHAPTER 1

Two days later, Amelius moved into his cottage.

He had provided himself with a new servant, as easily as he had provided
himself with a new abode. A foreign waiter at the hotel--a gray-haired
Frenchman of the old school, reputed to be the most ill-tempered
servant in the house--had felt the genial influence of Amelius with the
receptive readiness of his race. Here was a youn