ried in her own bosom. She had known what
it was to love,--had known it, perhaps, for one whole week,--and now
that knowledge was never to avail her again. Among them all she had
been robbed of her sweetheart. She had been bidden to give her heart
to this man,--her heart and hand; and now, when she had given all her
heart, she was bidden to refuse her hand. She had not ventured to
love till her love had been sanctioned. It had been sanctioned, and
she had loved; and now that sanction was withdrawn! She knew that she
was injured,--deeply, cruelly injured, but she would bear it, showing
nothing, and saying nothing. With this resolve she came down from her
room, and began to employ herself on her household work.

Mrs. Ray watched her carefully, and Rachel knew that she was watched;
but she took no outward notice of it, going on with her work, and
saying a soft, gentle word now and again, sometimes to her mother,
and sometimes to the little maiden who attended them. "Will you come
to dinner, mamma?" she said with a smile, taking her mother by the
hand.

"I shouldn't mind if I never sat down to dinner again," said Mrs.
Ray.

"Oh, mamma! don't say that; just when you are going to thank God for
the good things he gives you."

Then Mrs. Ray, in a low voice, as though rebuked, said the grace, and
they sat down together to their meal.

The afternoon went with them very slowly and almost in silence.
Neither of them would now speak about Luke Rowan; and to neither of
them was it as yet possible to speak about aught else. One word on
the subject was said during those hours. "You won't have time for
your letter after tea," Mrs. Ray said.

"I shall not write it till to-morrow," Rachel answered; "another day
will do no harm now."

At tea Mrs. Ray asked her whether she did not think that a walk would
do her good, and offered to accompany her; but Rachel, acceding to
the proposition of the walk, declared that she would go alone. "It's
very bad of me to say so, isn't it, when you're so good as to offer
to go with me?" But Mrs. Ray kissed her; saying, with many words,
that she was satisfied that it should be so. "You want to think of
things, I know," said the mother. Rachel acknowledged, by a slight
motion of her head, that she did want to think of things, and soon
after that she started.

"I believe I'll call on Dolly," she said. "It would be bad to
quarrel with her; and perhaps now she'll come back here to live with
us;--only