mmie,' he continued, looking at his wife with a kind
smile. And so the matter was settled.

Poor Mollie was horrified when she heard what she had escaped. The idea
of the convent was terrible to her.

'Oh, dear Miss Ross,' she exclaimed, 'how can mamma do anything so
dreadful? She will be miserable--quite miserable. Of course she would
not like living with only Biddy and me--she would have fretted herself
ill. But to be a nun and say prayers all day long! Poor, poor mamma!'
And Mollie's eyes grew round with misery.

'Dear Mollie, your mother thinks she knows best, and no one can control
her. Perhaps, if she does not like it--if the life be too hard--she will
come out at the end of her novitiate.'

And this view of the case seemed to comfort Mollie a little.

'And I am really to live at Woodcote--at that dear, beautiful place?'
she continued. 'Oh, Miss Ross, it seems too good to be true!'

'Yes; you are to be my little sister,' returned Audrey tranquilly. 'But,
Mollie, I will not be called Miss Ross any longer. If you live with me,
you must call me Audrey.'

And Mollie promised that she would.

Mollie said very little about her parting interview with her mother; but
she cried bitterly for hours afterwards. 'Poor, poor mamma! Oh, what
would Cyril say!' she exclaimed over and over again. And it was a long
time before anyone could comfort her.

Michael went down with them to Woodcote, and remained with them for the
next month or two. Cyril's sudden death had occurred the first week in
October, and the trees in the Woodcote gardens were glorious in their
autumnal livery of red and golden-brown, while every day careful hands
swept up the fallen leaves from the shrubberies and paths. Michael
resumed his old habits. When Audrey wanted him he was always ready to
walk or drive with her. No one knew the effort it cost him to appear as
usual, when every day his passion gained a stronger mastery over him.
Dearly as he had loved her in her youthful brightness, he had never
loved her as he did now, when he saw her in uncomplaining sadness
fulfilling her daily duties and devoting herself to Mollie. Geraldine
used to look at her with tears in her eyes. 'She is sweeter than ever. I
never knew anyone so good,' she said to her husband; and Mr. Harcourt
had assented to this very cordially. As for Mrs. Ross, before many weeks
were over she had drawn down on her maternal head more than one reproof
from her daughter.

'Mother,' Aud