l left her alone, except good little Grace Oldtower.

"Come often," I heard her say to this girl, whom she was fond of: they
had sat talking a whole morning--idly and pensively; of little things
around them, never once referring to things outside. "Come often,
though the house is dull. Does it not feel strange, with Mr. Halifax
away?"

Ay, this was the change--stranger at first than what had befallen
Guy--for that long seemed a thing we could not realise; like a story
told of some other family than ours. The present tangible blank was
the house with its head and master away.

Curiously enough, but from his domestic habits easily accountable, he
had scarcely ever been more than a few days absent from home before. We
missed him continually; in his place at the head of the table; in his
chair by the fire; his quick ring at the hall bell, when he came up
from the mills--his step--his voice--his laugh. The life and soul of
the house seemed to have gone out of it from the hour the father went
away.

I think in the wonderful workings of things--as we know all things do
work together for good--this fact was good for Ursula. It taught her
that, in losing Guy, she had not lost all her blessings. It showed her
what in the passion of her mother-love she might have been tempted to
forget--many mothers do--that beyond all maternal duty, is the duty
that a woman owes to her husband: beyond all loves, is the love that
was hers before any of them were born.

So, gradually, as every day John's letters came,--and she used to watch
for them and seize them as if they had been love-letters; as every day
she seemed to miss him more, and count more upon his return; referring
all decisions, and all little pleasures planned for her, to the time
"when your father comes home;"--hope and comfort began to dawn in the
heart of the mourning mother.

And when at last John fixed the day of his coming back, I saw Ursula
tying up the small bundle of his letters--his letters, of which in all
her happy life she had had so few--his tender, comforting, comfortable
letters.

"I hope I shall never need to have any more," she said,
half-smiling--the faint smile which began to dawn in her poor face, as
if she must accustom it to look bright again in time for her husband's
coming.

And when the day arrived, she put all the house in trim order, dressed
herself in her prettiest gown, sat patient while Maud brushed and
curled her hair--how white it