It is not to be wondered at, then, that no one guessed at David
Chantrey's difficulty, though everybody knew the exact amount of his
income. Neither he nor his wife hinted at it. Sophy Chantrey would have
freely given the world, had it been hers, to accompany her husband; but
there was no chance of that. A friend was going out on the same doleful
search for health; and the two were to take charge of each other. But
how to live at all while David was away? She urged that she could manage
very well on seventy or eighty pounds a year, if she and her boy went to
some cheap lodgings in a strange neighborhood, where nobody knew them;
but her husband would not listen to such a plan. The worry and fret of
his brain had grown almost to fever-height, when his aunt made a
proposal, which he accepted in impatient haste. This was that Sophy
should make her home at Bolton Villa for the full time of his absence;
on condition that Charlie, a boy of seven years old, full of life and
spirits, should be sent to school for the same term.

Sophy rebelled for a little while, but in vain. In thinking of the
eighteen long and dreary months her husband would be away, she had
counted upon having the consolation of her child's companionship. But no
other scheme presented itself; and she felt the sacrifice must be made
for David's sake. A suitable school was found for Charlie; and he was
placed in it a day or two before she had to journey down to Southampton
with her husband. No soul on deck that day was more sorrowful than hers.
David's hollow cheeks, and thin, stooping frame, and the feeble hand
that clasped hers till the last moment, made the hope of ever seeing him
again seem a mad folly. Her sick heart refused to be comforted. He was
sanguine, and spoke almost gayly of his return; but she was filled with
anguish. A strong persuasion seized upon her that she should see his
face no more; and when the bitter moment of parting was over, she