Mrs. Falconer's;
or rather, I should say, there is nothing harder to meet than a grief
which refuses to recognise love in the midst of anguish which hardens
and, as it were, paralyzes the whole being; changes the fountain of
sweetness into bitterness; making the accustomed routine of duty
impossible and falling on the sufferer like a heavy pall.

"Missus is like somebody else; can't believe it is missus at all," the
maids said, when Joyce returned with the orders for poor Susan to remain
all night, and to be cared for till the morning.

The poor girl was so utterly exhausted that she had fallen asleep, her
face hidden on her arm, her elbows on the kitchen table; and her
attitude of utter helplessness touched Joyce.

"Be kind to her," she said; "she is very unhappy. Be kind to her, Sarah.
I know you _will_ be kind to her as I wish it."

Then Joyce ran to her room and took the letter from her pocket.

The evening was closing in fast, but kneeling on the window-seat, she
opened the lattice, and all the daylight yet lingering in the west fell
upon the clearly written page of Bath post paper.

The letter was dated: "Sion Hill, Clifton, near Bristol," and began:

"If I have delayed sending you an expression of my sympathy in your
trouble, dear Miss Falconer, it has been that I feared to intrude
upon you in your grief, and feared, too, that I should touch it
with too rough a hand. But I remember your parting words, your kind
promise not to forget me. Thus I venture to tell you that I bear
you ever in my mind, and that the time may come, _will_ come, when
I shall beg you to hear more from me than I can say now, and grant
me a very earnest petition. But not now would I speak of myself or
of my hopes and fears. Rather would I tell you how I pray God to
comfort you for the loss of a father, whom I count it an honour to
have known. I would ask you to believe that I, who have had the
privilege of watching the happy home-life--now, alas! so sadly
broken up--can, at least, understand what the wreck must be. Please
present my regards and sympathy to Mrs. Falconer, and assure her
of my remembrance of her kindness to me while her guest at Fair
Acres, if indeed you think I may venture so far.

"I remain, dear Miss Falconer,
"Your very faithful and true
"GILBERT DECOURCY ARUNDEL."

There was a postscript written on the blank part of the