m not thinking of her," he said; "but I
am thinking of Mary Vivian's senses, which will not stand this much
longer. Try and find out from her if she sees anything: if she has come
to that, whatever she says we must have her out of there."

But Mrs. Bowyer had nothing to report when this conclave of friends met
again. Mary would not allow that she had seen anything. She grew paler
every day, her eyes grew larger, but she made no confession; and Connie
bloomed and grew, and met no more old ladies upon the stairs.

XII.

The days passed on, and no new event occurred in this little history. It
came to be summer,--balmy and green,--and everything around the old house
was delightful, and its beautiful rooms became more pleasant than ever in
the long days and soft brief nights. Fears of the earl's return and of
the possible end of the Turners' tenancy began to disturb the household,
but no one so much as Mary, who felt herself to cling as she had never
done before to the old house. She had never got over the impression that
a secret presence, revealed to no one else, was continually near her,
though she saw no one. And her health was greatly affected by this
visionary double life.

This was the state of affairs on a certain soft wet day when the family
were all within doors. Connie had exhausted all her means of amusement
in the morning. When the afternoon came, with its long, dull, uneventful
hours, she had nothing better to do than to fling herself upon Miss
Vivian, upon whom she had a special claim. She came to Mary's room,
disturbing the strange quietude of that place, and amused herself looking
over all the trinkets and ornaments that were to be found there, all of
which were associated to Mary with her godmother. Connie tried on the
bracelets and brooches which Mary in her deep mourning had not worn, and
asked a hundred questions. The answer which had to be so often repeated,
"That was given to me by my godmother," at last called forth the child's
remark, "How fond your godmother must have been of you, Miss Vivian! She
seems to have given you everything--"

"Everything!" cried Mary, with a full heart.

"And yet they all say she was not kind enough," said little
Connie,--"what do they mean by that? for you seem to love her very much
still, though she is dead. Can one go on loving people when they are
dead?"

"Oh yes, and better than ever," said Mary; "for often you do not know how
you loved them, or what t