t I must warn you. She has nothing to do with creeds and dogmas.'

He tried to read her face. Sidwell's mind was a mystery to him.

'I shall make no inquiry about her religious views,' his sister
replied, in a dispassionate tone, which conveyed no certain meaning.

'Then I feel sure you will like her, and equally sure that she will
like you.'

His parents had no distinct fault to find with this choice, though they
would both greatly have preferred a daughter-in-law whose genealogy
could be more freely spoken of. Miss Renshaw was invited to Exeter, and
the first week of June saw her arrival. Buckland had in no way
exaggerated her qualities. She was a dark-eyed beauty, perfect from the
social point of view, a very interesting talker,--in short, no ordinary
woman. That Buckland should have fallen in love with her, even after
Sylvia, was easily understood; it seemed likely that she would make him
as good a wife as he could ever hope to win.

Sidwell was expecting another letter from the north of England. The
silence which during those first months had been justifiable was now a
source of anxiety. But whether fear or hope predominated in her
expectancy, she still could not decide. She had said to herself that
her next reply should not be cowardly, yet she was as far as ever from
a courageous resolve.

Mental harassment told upon her health. Martin, watching her with
solicitude, declared that for her sake as much as for Fanny's they must
have a thorough holiday abroad.

Urged by the approaching departure, Sidwell overcame her reluctance to
write to Godwin before she had a letter to answer. It was done in a
mood of intolerable despondency, when life looked barren before her,
and the desire of love all but triumphed over every other
consideration. The letter written and posted, she would gladly have
recovered it--reserved, formal as it was. Cowardly still; but then
Godwin had not written.

She kept a watch upon the postman, and again, when Godwin's reply was
delivered, escaped detection.

Hardly did she dare to open the envelope. Her letter had perchance been
more significant than she supposed; and did not the mere fact of her
writing invite a lover's frankness?

But the reply was hardly more moving than if it had come from a total
stranger. For a moment she felt relieved; in an hour's time she
suffered indescribable distress. Godwin wrote--so she convinced herself
after repeated perusals--as if discharging a task;