peak the truth, and she seemed in her
wilder moments to care little what she did. Wyvis had faults--who knew
them better than Janetta, who had studied his character with great and
loving care?--but they were nor of the same kind. His mood was
habitually sombre; Juliet loved pleasure and variety: his nature was a
loving one, strong and deep, although undisciplined; but Juliet's light
and fickle temperament made her shrink from and almost dislike
characteristics so different from her own. And Janetta soon saw that in
spite of her open defiance of her husband she was a little afraid of
him; and she could well imagine that when Wyvis was angry he was a man
of whom a woman might very easily be afraid.

Yet, when the letter was despatched, Janetta felt a sense of relief. She
had at least done her duty, as she conceived of it. She did not know
what the upshot might be; but at any rate, she had done her best to put
matters in train towards the solving of the problem of Wyvis' married
life.

She was puzzled during the next few days by some curious, indefinable
change in Mrs. Brand's demeanor. The poor woman had of late seemed
almost distraught; she had lost all care, apparently, for appearances,
and went along the corridors moaning Wyvis' name sadly to herself, and
wringing her hands as if in bitter woe. Her dress was neglected, and her
hair unbrushed: indeed, when Janetta was too busy to give her a
daughter's loving care, as it was her custom and her pleasure to do,
poor Mrs. Brand roamed about the house looking like a madwoman. Her
madness was, however, of a gentle kind: it took the form of melancholia,
and manifested itself chiefly by continual restlessness and occasional
bursts of weeping and lament.

In one of these outbreaks Janetta found her shortly after she had sent
her letter to Wyvis, and tried by all means in her power to soothe and
pacify her.

"Dear grandmother," she began--for she had caught the word from Julian,
and Mrs. Brand liked her to use it--"why should you be so sad? Wyvis is
coming home, Juliet is better, little Julian is well, and we are all
happy."

"_You_ are not happy," said Mrs. Brand, throwing up her hands with a
curiously tragic gesture. "You are miserable--miserable; and I am the
most unhappy woman living!"

"No," I said Janetta, gently. "I am not miserable at all. And there are
many women more unhappy than you are. You have a home, sons who love
you, a grandson, friends--see how many thin