contrasts of the life here. She observed with some surprise that, in spite of their utter unlikeness of character, there was a strong bond of mutual affection between Margaret and Mrs. Neale. Little disposed as Margaret was to tolerate weakness or self-indulgence, she was always ready to make excuses for Mrs. Neale's faults; and when she spoke to her, or performed any little personal service for her, there would come a faint flush of colour, and a softening of all the lines of her handsome, clear cut face that for a moment or two restored something of the glow and charm of youth to her coun

tenance.

Elsie pondered much in her solitary hours over these revelations of Margaret's inner life. Would her life, she asked herself, be like this one whose secrets she was divining at last? Could she go on living after the love, which now seemed the one absorbing interest of her existence, had been quite put aside, and allowed to live as a faint remembrance only? Would she, years hence, return to some house, where the ghost of her love would look out

upon her as the ghost of Margaret's did in this?

Once, about a week after she came to London, Elsie passed down Eaton-square when she was out walking with Crawford, and observed a carriage stop at a door, from which a young lady alighted, ran quickly up the steps, and passed into the house.

66

That's Sir Cecil Russel's house, and the young lady who ran in is Miss Russel, who was down in Oldbury so long. Did you see her?" Crawford asked.

Elsie had recognised Cecil at the very first glimpse; and when she disappeared she stood still, staring blankly at the closed door, and could hardly bring herself to move on, even when Crawford called her.

This incident did not by any means add to Elsie's comfort.. After that day she always had a feverish, restless longing for the hour to come at which Margaret was accustomed to send her out for a daily walk with Crawford. If it rained, or if Crawford was busy and could not go out with her, she was

more unhappy than usual the whole day. When she did get out, all her thoughts were absorbed in the one hope that Crawford's errands would lead her to take the way she wanted to go. She seldom had courage herself to propose that they should walk down Eaton-square; but if they did pass Sir Cecil's house, she felt as if the object of the walk had been attained. She had glanced up at the windows, and seen a curtain flutter; or a footman passed up the doorsteps and gave in a letter while she was by; or at the very least she had breathed a whiff of perfume from the geraniums and mignonette in Cecil's balcony. She went home satisfied-a sort of link between herself and the inhabitants of that house had to her fancy been woven; and the rest of the day passed in comparative content.

At last a morning came-a chill December morning when she went out, after having been confined to the house by nearly a fortnight's rain, and looking up at Sir Cecil's house saw signs that made her heart die

within her. The windows and doors were wide open; work-people were passing in and out. A van laden with furniture stood at the door. Elsie entreated Crawford to stop and ask what it meant. The careless surprised answers brought no comfort.

Yes, this house did once belong to Sir Cecil Russel, but he had gone abroad for several years, and now the house was let again, and another family were coming immediately to live in it.

All Elsie's eagerness to walk out disappeared after that day, and she relapsed into a state of listlessness and depression that greatly distressed and puzzled Margaret.

CHAPTER XXXV.

A REFT IN THE CLOUD.

In the beginning of the next year Margaret went to Dartmoor to pay her last visit to the prisoner there, who was to be released in the coming spring. She went quite alone. Since his wife's death Mr. Blake had been gradually sinking into a state of apathy, from which he could not be roused to undertake the journey. When Margaret spoke of it to him, he listened attentively for a time, a look of sorrowful intelligence would come on his face, and he seemed to struggle to call together his wandering thoughts, and brace himself for some effort he had to make. But the instant she ceased to speak, the impression of her words passed away, the blank look settled on his face again, and he would begin