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308 hands of the only two beings she loved on earth, before she left it. But how? The time left her to accomplish this was short. She was not satisfied with the progress things had made. Indeed, for the last few weeks they seemed to have been at a standstill. It is true that she had no fear now of Alaric's misunderstanding Elizabeth; a very strong regard subsisted between them—of that she felt sure. As regarded her brother, she believed it to be something much more than this, but it was provoking that he would not speak openly, even to Hatty, of himself—of his own feelings. Never, since that conversation with her in Paris nearly three months before, had Hatty been able to get him to talk of Elizabeth. If she tried to do so, he changed the conversation instantly.

With her friend it was different. She never showed any disinclination to listen to the praises of poor Hatty's hero, to hear anecdotes of his nobility and self-sacrifice, his trenchant words to the ungodly whom he had morally knocked down, his kindly words to the humble whom he had lifted up; Elizabeth was not afraid to manifest frankly the interest she felt in the brother, when the sister and she were alone. But in his presence something of the daring which had characterized her utterances in the early pension days was gone. To-night, especially, her silence and her watchfulness of Alaric struck Hatty greatly. Her sorrow for her uncle, of which she had spoken quite naturally, might account for the first, but hardly for the second. Alaric, too, said very little. Neither of them seemed completely at ease. And yet Melchior's departure was felt by all to be a relief, though Hatty openly expressed her vexation that his commission