r own mother had gone away
from the Towers, and fancied that that good lady would resent her
desertion. This affair had lasted longer than her anticipation of it.

Then old Maisie showed how partial the illumination of her mind had
been. "Oh yes, my dear," she said, "I know. You have to go, of course,
because of that poor old person. The old person you told me of--whom you
have to tell--to tell of her sister she thought dead--what was it?" She
had recovered consciousness so far as to know that Phoebe was somehow to
reappear risen from the dead; and that this Ruth whom she had taken so
much to heart was somehow entitled to call her mother; but what that
_how_ was, and why, was becoming a mystery as her vigour fell away and
an inevitable reaction began to tell upon her.

Gwen heard it in the dazed sound of her voice; and, to her thought,
assent was best to whatever the dumfoundered mind dwelt upon most
readily. "Yes," said she, "I must go and tell her. She must know." Then
she beckoned Widow Thrale away from the bedside. "It was her own sister
I told her of," said she in an undertone. "I thought she would see
quickest that way.... Do you quite understand?" A quick nod showed that
her hearer had quite understood. Gwen thanked Heaven that at least she
had no lack of faculties to deal with there. "Listen!" said she. "You
must get her food now. You must _make_ her eat, whether she likes it or
no." She saw that for Ruth herself the kindest thing was the immediate
imposition of duties, and was glad to find her so alive to the needs of
the case.

Two voices of women in the kitchen without. One, Elizabeth-next-door;
the other, surely, Keziah Solmes from the Towers. So much the better! "I
may tell it them, my lady?" said Widow Thrale. Gwen had to think a
moment, before saying:--"_Yes_--but they must not talk of it in the
village--not yet! Go out and tell them. I will remain with your mother."
It was the first time Ruth Thrale had had the fact she had succeeded in
knowing in theory forced roughly upon her in practice. She started, but
recovered herself to do her ladyship's bidding.

The utter amazement of Keziah and Elizabeth-next-door, as Gwen heard it,
was a thing to be remembered. But she paid little attention to it. She
was bidding farewell to old Mrs. Picture. The last speech she heard from
her seemed to be:--"Tell my little boy and Dolly. Say I will come back
to them." Then she appeared to fall asleep.

"You must get som