bedside. She was not rouged,--she had left it off now for several
days,--she no longer attempted to keep up the vain show of not feeling,
and loving, and fearing.

"For a moment or two she did not speak, and I was glad of the respite.

"'Clement?' she said at length, covering her mouth with a handkerchief
the minute she had spoken, that I might not see it quiver.

"'There has been no news since the first letter, saying how well the
voyage was performed, and how safely he had landed--near Dieppe, you
know,' I replied as cheerfully as possible. 'My lord does not expect
that we shall have another letter; he thinks that we shall see him soon.'

"There was no answer. As I looked, uncertain whether to do or say more,
she slowly turned herself in bed, and lay with her face to the wall; and,
as if that did not shut out the light of day and the busy, happy world
enough, she put out her trembling hands, and covered her face with her
handkerchief. There was no violence: hardly any sound.

"I told her what my lord had said about Clement's coming in some day, and
taking us all by surprise. I did not believe it myself, but it was just
possible,--and I had nothing else to say. Pity, to one who was striving
so hard to conceal her feelings, would have been impertinent. She let me
talk; but she did not reply. She knew that my words were vain and idle,
and had no root in my belief; as well as I did myself.

"I was very thankful when Medlicott came in with Madame's breakfast, and
gave me an excuse for leaving.