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 sion was to enquire about Ernest, as her suspense in that respect began to overpower her own personal relations in the matter. This was a course comparatively easy, but now the opportunity was wanting. The next day he was going away, and it seemed almost impossible to rest another night. Then in a few weeks he was to leave home, and how could sho live without him under these circumstances.

After restlessly diverting herself by going from one thing to another to no purpose, she sat down by her chamber window which overlooked the front yard. It was already twilight, that hour so deeply suggestive of past pleasures and future hopes, so full of vague yearnings to the restless wanderer, whose day dreams assume a spectral shape as the visionary hour of hight approaches. She beguiled the weary moments by gazing into the dim distance which returned no answering smile of cheer or consolation. All along the unbroken stillness seemed to come an irresistible impetus to her ardent desire for questioning Walter, until she tortured herself into the belief that something had really happened to Ernest, something for which her conscience told her she would be responsible. There was still a faint hope of an opportunity that night on Walter's return. A habit had existed between them from childhood which he had been particularly careful to observe for the last six weeks, a good night kiss. If he staid out until she had retired to her chamber he sought entrance there, and would he not do it now if she failed to meet them at the door on their return. Then recollecting how earnestly he had plead with her to