Harry rang the bell, and began giving fussing and contradictory orders to the servants.

Zara dropped her head again on her sofa pillows; so much was done, and there only remained one more effort on her part. She sedulously denied herself to visitors, with no exception, during the short remaining period of her stay in London. Sir Harry was happily much occupied with farewell calls and last arrangements, so that he did not notice that her exclusion did not except even Frank Leslie. Only the evening before her departure she wrote to him by post as follows:

You will be surprised, but I think I can trust to you not to be offended,—when I ask you to forego our plans for the autumn, and not to come to Lea as arranged. I have been ill and unhappy; and I am weaker in will and spirit than I thought

than you are. Will you forgive me?

You are too noble to judge me hardly I know. We leave town to-morrow; and I have written this, instead of seeing you,to say good-bye. Some day we may meet again; may God bless you, till then, and always.

Z. C."

CHAPTER XXV.

AFTER THE MOUNTAIN, THE VALLEY.

".... Behold!

Upon her face there was a tint of grief,
The settled shadow of an inward strife,
And an unquiet drooping of the eye,

As if its lid were charged with unshed tears;-
What could her grief be?"

To anyone cursed with the spirit of morbid
retrospection, there is something inexpres-
sibly sad in returning to a place, the time
of our absence from which has been
marked by painful inward experiences,―
whose consequences are likely to tinge
our whole future existence.
We may

have no particularly joyous associations connected with the spot which we revisit; but the mere fact that when we left it that sorrow was still a stranger to us, serves to

touch every remembrance surrounding it, with the bitterness of regret. Memory, that cheat, turns monotony into content,— the absence of acute grief into the presence of comparative happiness .... “If I had known what was before me!" we cry in pitiful compassion for our own fortunate ignorance...

Lea Manor was in its full summer beauty; the woods were luxuriant in foliage, the velvet turf was smooth and fair, the flower-beds bloomed gorgeously from under the gardener's careful preparation; everything was orderly and bright for the return of the master and mistress.

Sir Harry was all amiability, and goodhumoured patronage. To return home after a lengthened absence always gratified his vanity and self-importance. He liked to be greeted by the expectant servants, and to find everything minutely ordered for his approval. He liked to inspect the

farm-labourers, and consult with the gamekeeper, and distribute blame or praise with lordly arrogance. He liked to receive the calls of the neighbourhood, and return them in state. He was Sir Harry Carew of Lea; and felt every inch a baronet.

Everyone noticed the change in Lady Carew; her altered looks and aspect created general remark, which annoyed Sir Harry greatly whenever it came to his ears. "Ill? Of course not. She had only done a little too much in the London season, and was paying for it now the excitement is over: country life and air would soon recover her." This was the tenour of his words; but his manner said that it was an insult to him and his dignity to suppose that his wife could be anything but happy and blooming.

But among themselves, people said that Lady Carew looked not only ill, but ten