ently though dumbly protesting against the mere
idea of forcible separation. When she sat down, hot and tired, in the
midst of shrouded masses of furniture, to enjoy a picnic meal that
Mary had set out on the one unoccupied corner of a crowded table, she
was able to eat with hearty appetite; and yet, no matter how tired she
might be by the end of the day, she could not sleep properly at
night.

If she slept, a dream of trouble woke her. As she lay awake her
trouble sometimes seemed greater than ever. It was as though the
spring cleaning, which by day proved mentally beneficial, became
deleterious during these long night watches. The neater, the cleaner,
the brighter she made her home, the more terrible must be a sentence
of perpetual banishment.

On Friday afternoon the work was nearly over. Kitchen utensils were
like shining mirrors; the flowers of the best carpet were like real
blossoms budding after rain; and Mavis on the step-ladder, with a
smudged face, untidy hair, and grimy hands, had begun to reinstate the
pictures handed to her by Mary, when Miss Yorke came knocking abruptly
at the parlor door.

"A telegram, ma'am."

"All right."

Mavis had come down the ladder, and as she opened the yellow envelope
she began to tremble.

"Answer paid, ma'am. Shall I wait?"

"No. I--I'll--No, don't wait."

It was from Dale. She had sat down on the lowest step of the ladder,
and was trembling violently. "Oh, how dreadful!" She muttered the
words mechanically, without any attempt to express her actual thought.
"How very dreadful!"

"What is it, ma'am? Bad news?"

"Oh, most dreadful. But perhaps a mistake. I'm to find out;" and she
stared stupidly at the paper that was shaking in her fingers. Then,
spreading it on her lap, she read the message aloud:--

"Evening paper says fatal accident to Mr. Barradine. Is this
true? Wire Dale, Appledore Temperance Hotel, Stamford Street,
S.E."

Then she jumped up, ran into the front room, and looked out of the
window. A glance showed her that the village was in possession of some
sensational tidings. There was a knot of people standing in front of
the saddler's, and another--quite a little crowd--in front of the
butcher's; all were talking excitedly, nodding their heads, and
gesticulating.

She ran down-stairs and joined the group at the saddler's.

"I never cared for the look of the horse," Allen was saying
sententiously. "And I might almost claim to have warne