she thought we could not see her turn and run swiftly up-stairs.

"Why _did_ you stay, my dear?" I groaned. "I felt as if I were
personally smothering Mrs. Bentley every moment we were there."

"I _had_ to do it. She wished it, and, as she said, it was a relief to
have us there, though she was wishing us at the ends of the earth all
the time. But what a ghastly life!"

"Yes; and can you wonder that the poor woman doesn't want to give her
up, to lose the help and comfort she gets from her? It's a wicked thing
for that girl to think of marrying."

"What are you talking about, Basil? It's a wicked thing for her _not_ to
think of it! She is wearing her life out, _tearing_ it out, and she
isn't doing her mother a bit of good. Her mother would be just as well,
and better, with a good strong nurse, who could lift her this way and
that, and change her about, without feeling her heart-strings wrung at
every gasp, as that poor child must. Oh, I _wish_ Glendenning was man
enough to make her run off with him, and get married, in spite of
everything. But, of course, that's impossible--for a clergyman! And her
sacrifice began so long ago that it's become part of her life, and
she'll simply have to keep on."


VIII.

When her attack passed off, Mrs. Bentley sent and begged my wife to come
again and see her. She went without me, while I was in town, but she was
so circumstantial in her report of her visit, when I came home, that I