e heart, she stepped back
from the grave and told him that she was ready.

Somehow, Michael felt comforted by those few words. His intuition and
knowledge of Audrey's character gave him hope that after a time she
would recover her old elasticity. 'Until now,' he said to himself, 'she
has so fully identified herself with him, that she has simply had no
life of her own. Her sympathetic nature has reflected only his thoughts
and feelings. I doubt whether she has ever questioned herself as to her
love for him; she has taken everything for granted. And now she has lost
him, the thought of his happiness seems to swallow up all thought of her
own grief. Such unselfishness will bring its own healing.' And in this
way Michael comforted himself about her.

That evening Audrey received a message that surprised her greatly.
Kester brought it. His mother would see her the next day; someone had
told her that Audrey was going back to Woodcote, and she had at once
expressed a wish that she should not leave without bidding her good-bye.

'Tell her that I can speak now, and that I have much to say to her.' And
the strangeness of this message filled Audrey with perplexity.

Michael took her to Kensington the next day. He had to fetch Kester; the
boy was going back to Brighton: there was no good in his lingering in
London. His mother took no pleasure in his society; his overtures to his
father had made a breach between them, and she had treated him with
silent displeasure.

But he told Michael, as they drove to the station, that she had been
kinder in her manner to him that morning than she had been for months.

'She kissed me more than once, and held my hand as though she did not
like bidding me good bye. She looks awfully ill,' continued the boy,
with a choke in his voice; 'and when I asked her to be good to Mollie,
she said quite gently that she had been a bad mother to us both; that
she had not considered us enough, and that God was punishing her for it.
I begged her not to say it, but she repeated it again. "You and Mollie
will be better without me," she went on. Oh, Captain Burnett! do you
think she will die? I never saw anyone look quite so bad,' persisted
Kester sadly.

Biddy took Audrey up at once to her mistress's room.

'You will find her better,' she said shortly; 'the dumb spirit is cast
out of her. That is the blessed saints' doing. I knew my mistress would
come to her senses--Heaven be praised for it!'

The room wa