e nothing to deserve thanks. Even if you had not asked
me this, do you think I would have gone on my own way, like the Levite
in the parable, and left that poor fellow to shift for himself? No, my
dear, no; I am not quite so flinty-hearted. Unless Blake will have none
of my help--unless he absolutely repulse me--I will try as far as lies
in my power to put him on his feet again.'

'He will not repulse you; I have his word for that. Ah! there is the
dinner-bell, and I have not said all that I wanted. The day seems as
though it would never end, and yet there is time for nothing.'

'You will not come downstairs, Audrey? Let me ask your mother to excuse
you. See! you can stay in this room; I can clear the table and put
things ship-shape for you.'

Then she looked at him with the same air of innocent surprise with which
she had regarded her mother the previous night, when she had asked to
remain with her.

'Why do you all treat me as though I were an invalid?' she said
protestingly. 'I am not ill, Michael. What does it matter where one eats
one's dinner? It is true I am not hungry, but there is father--why
should I make him uncomfortable? We must think of other people always,
and under all circumstances.'

She seemed to be saying this to herself more than to him, as though she
would remind herself of her duty. Michael said no more, but as he
followed her downstairs he told himself that no other girl could have
borne herself so bravely and so sweetly under the circumstances.

He wondered at her still more as he sat opposite to her at table, and
saw the quiet gravity with which she took her part in the conversation.
She spoke a word or two about her sister, and mentioned of her own
accord that she had promised to bring Leonard to see her the next day.

'I do not mean to call him baby,' she said; 'he is far too important a
personage. Did you hear nurse speak of him as Master Baby the other day?
I think Gage must have given her a hint about it.'

And then she listened with an air of interest as her mother related a
little anecdote that recurred to her memory of Geraldine's babyhood.

But he saw her flush painfully when Mrs. Ross commented on her want of
appetite.

'You have eaten nothing to-day, Crauford tells me,' she continued
anxiously.

Audrey shook her head.

'One cannot always be hungry, mother dear,' she said gently; but it was
evident that her mother's kindly notice did not please her.

And she seemed sti