pronounced, and to it she submitted. But Peregrine Orme was still
more distant from her;--Peregrine Orme, or any other of the curled
darlings who might come that way playing the part of a suitor.
She knew what she owed to her mother, but she also knew her own
privileges.

There was nothing said on the subject between the mother and
child during three days. Lady Staveley was more than ordinarily
affectionate to her daughter, and in that way made known the thoughts
which were oppressing her; but she did so in no other way. All
this Madeline understood, and thanked her mother with the sweetest
smiles and the most constant companionship. Nor was she, even
now, absolutely unhappy, or wretchedly miserable; as under such
circumstances would be the case with many girls. She knew all that
she was prepared to abandon, but she understood also how much
remained to her. Her life was her own, and with her life the energy
to use it. Her soul was free. And her heart, though burdened with
love, could endure its load without sinking. Let him go forth on his
career. She would remain in the shade, and be contented while she
watched it.

So strictly wise and philosophically serene had Madeline become
within a few days of Graham's departure, that she snubbed poor Mrs.
Baker, when that good-natured and sharp-witted housekeeper said a
word or two in praise of her late patient.

"We are very lonely, ain't we, miss, without Mr. Graham to look
after?" said Mrs. Baker.

"I'm sure we are all very glad that he has so far recovered as to be
able to be moved."

"That's in course,--though I still say that he went before he ought.
He was such a nice gentleman. Where there's one better, there's
twenty worse; and as full of cleverness as an egg's full of meat." In
answer to which Madeline said nothing.

"At any rate, Miss Madeline, you ought to say a word for him,"
continued Mrs. Baker; "for he used to worship the sound of your
voice. I've known him lay there and listen, listen, listen, for your
very footfall."

"How can you talk such stuff, Mrs. Baker? You have never known
anything of the kind--and even if he had, how could you know it? You
should not talk such nonsense to me, and I beg you won't again." Then
she went away, and began to read a paper about sick people written by
Florence Nightingale.

But it was by no means Lady Staveley's desire that her daughter
should take to the Florence Nightingale line of life. The charities
of Noning