Lady Tallis's interview with the vicar had
taken place early in December, and the
engagement had been formally sanctioned
before Christmas.

"We needn't proclaim it just yet," said
Lady Tallis, "until Hugh sees his way a
little more clearly. And Maudie is quite
young enough to wait."

"Dear Aunt Hilda, there is no one I
know of to proclaim it to!" Maud had
answered, simply and sadly. And Lady
Tallis had acquiesced; not without a sigh
that the alliance of a daughter of the united
houses of Delaney and Desmond should be,
perforce, thus mutely inglorious.

Hugh had, however, compounded for
permission to tell his happy news to his old
friends the Sheardowns. And Captain
Sheardown had been moved to the offer
of trying to assist Hugh in his project of
raising the money for the purchase of the
architect's and surveyor's business in
Daneshire, by the announcement that Hugh was
to marry Maud Desmond.

"Did your ears burn, dearest—what
pretty little white ears they are—whilst I
was away?" asked Hugh on the first
evening of his return, holding Maud's hands
in his, and looking down at her golden hair.
"They ought to have been of the fieriest
crimson, if the old saw were true: for we
talked of you, you, you—scarcely anything
else but you all the time I was at Lowater."

"We talked! Dear Hugh, I am afraid you
must have teased them with my name."

"No, darling: Mrs. Sheardown spoke of
you constantly. What a delightful creature
she is!" added Hugh, with a naive earnestness
that brought a smile to Maud's lips,
and a blush to her pale cheek.

Maud is not much changed in outward
aspect since she was last presented to the
reader. She is perhaps a trifle paler and
thinner, but that has come within the last
month. She had grieved for her aunt, but
without acute pain of mind. She had the
peace-bestowing assurance that her
presence had been a solace and a joy to poor
Aunt Hilda; and had made the forsaken
woman some amends for years of hard
usage and neglect. And there was in
Maud's spirit none of that unappeasable
sorrow which comes from remorseful
memories of duties left undone, or done
grudgingly without heartfelt kindness.

Lady Tallis's death had been almost
painless. She had not known that her
end was near, until within three days of
her decease, and then she spoke of it
calmly and cheerfully. And she had
uttered many a solemn injunction to Hugh
to be true and tender to the orphan girl who
loved him. " My only regret in the world is
that I can do nothing for the sweet child,"
she had said. "If she had been my
daughter instead of my niece she would
have inherited a pretty penny under my
marriage settlement. But as it is, it all
goes back to him. But may be it is all for
the best."

After a pause she had added: " I can't
speak of him to Maudie, my dear Hugh.
But if if ever any chance—God only
knows how strangely things come about
sometimes—if ever chance should give ye
the opportunity of letting him know that I—
that I die in peace with him, I'd be glad
he should be told so. It might be good for
him to know it, some day. And—and—of
course I can't altogether make excuses for
him, but I know I was not very wise in
times gone by, and may-be I tried him.
And I did love him once, Hugh. And
those whom God has joined together, I don't
believe can ever be quite put asunder.
Distance won't do it. And time won't do it.
And—I'd like him to know that I prayed
for him, Hugh, and asked his pardon if I
vexed him or did wrong by him in past
years."

"Dearest Lady Tallis, I am sure you
have nothing to reproach yourself with!"

"Ah, Hugh, Hugh, looking death in the
face gives the foolishest of us wisdom
enough to see our own short-comings.
And I'd like him to forgive me my
trespasses as I forgive his and as I hope to be
forgiven."

Again she paused; this time for so long
that Hugh thought she had fallen asleep.
But as he began softly to move away, she
stopped him and motioned him to bend
down his head over the couch where she
was lying. And then she said, " And,
Hugh, when I'm gone, he may do justice to
that—that young woman. I have felt very
bitter towards her, that's the truth. And
I don't mean to tell you that I feel quite
as a good Christian ought to feel at this
minute. But I have forgiven her, my dear,
though it was hard. I dare say she is to
be pitied, poor creature! And I won't
distress our darling just now, with speaking
of it, but afterwards Hugh, when she's calm,
and can think of me without pain, ye
may tell her what I said. She loved the
other girl, and 'twill comfort her."

And so the poor, gentle, kindly spirit had
left the world, in charity with all men.

Hugh had much to say to Maud on that