g, growing dark and transparent, and the
boy played about near her, she had a view of the blue sea, and about
her were the twitter of birds and the hum of the cicada. The very beauty
made her heart ache. Seaward there was nothing--nothing but the leaping
little waves and the sky. From the land side help might come at any
hour, and at every roll of wheels along the road her heart beat faster
and hope sprang up anew. But day after day nothing came.

Perhaps there is no greater bravery than this sort of waiting, doing
the daily duty and waiting. Endurance is woman's bravery, and Edith was
enduring, with an almost broken but still with a courageous heart. It
was all so strange. Was it simply shame that kept him away, or had he
ceased to love her? If the latter, there was no help for her. She had
begged him to come, she had offered to leave the boy with her cousin
companion and go to him. Perhaps it was pride only. In one of his short
letters he had said, "Thank God, your little fortune is untouched." If
it were pride only, how could she overcome it? Of this she thought night
and day. She thought, and she was restless, feverish, and growing thin
in her abiding anxiety.

It was true that her own fortune was safe and in her control. But with
the usual instinct of women who know they have an income not likely
to be ever increased, she began to be economical. She thought not of
herself; but of the boy. It was the boy's fortune now. She began to look
sharply after expenses; she reduced her household; she took upon herself
the care of the boy, and other household duties. This was all well for
her, for it occupied her time, and to some extent diverted her thoughts.

So the summer passed--a summer of anxiety, longing, and dull pain for
Edith. The time came when the uncertainty of it could no longer be
endured. If Jack had deserted her, even if he should die, she could
order her life and try to adjust her heavy burden. But this uncertainty
was quite beyond her power to sustain.

She made up her mind that she would go to the city and seek him. It was
what he had written that she must not on any account do, but nothing
that could happen to her there could be so bad as this suspense.
Perhaps she could bring him back. If he refused, and was angry at her
interference, that even would be something definite. And then she had
carefully thought out another plan. It might fail, but some action had
now become for her a necessity.

Early on