the very aspect of the house of God; it was she who appeared to preside
there, or rather to rule by terror. And Honora, as she glanced at her
during the lessons, often wondered if she realized the appalling extent
of her cruelty. Was this woman, who begged so audibly to be delivered
from pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy, in reality a Christian? Honora
hated her, and yet she prayed that God would soften her heart. Was there
no way in which she could be propitiated, appeased? For the sake of the
thing desired, and which it was given this woman to withhold, she was
willing to humble herself in the dust.

Honora laid the hospital circular on the desk beside her account book.
She had an ample allowance from Hugh; but lying in a New York bank was
what remained of the unexpected legacy she had received from her father,
and it was from this that she presently drew a cheque for five hundred
dollars,--a little sacrifice that warmed her blood as she wrote. Not for
the unfortunate in the hospital was she making it, but for him: and that
she could do this from the little store that was her very own gave her a
thrill of pride. She would never need it again. If he deserted her, it
mattered little what became of her. If he deserted her!

She sat gazing out of the window over the snow, and a new question was in
her heart. Was it as a husband--that he loved her? Did their intercourse
have that intangible quality of safety that belonged to married life? And
was it not as a mistress rather than a wife that, in their isolation, she
watched his moods so jealously? A mistress! Her lips parted, and she
repeated the word aloud, for self-torture is human.

Her mind dwelt upon their intercourse. There were the days they spent
together, and the evenings, working or reading. Ah, but had the time ever
been when, in the depths of her being, she had felt the real security of