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ILLUSTRATIONS (not available in this edition)

Wrote deliberately to each of her sisters

The hum of cities, and buzz of dinner tables . . sound in his ears not at all.

The housekeeper! This—person!

He had eloquence, he thought, as he watched her, he had won. But he was anxious. She was such a deep one.

Ploughman in the vales would sometimes see his gaunt figure on the sky-line.

“Well, Sanchia,” he said, “here I am.”

The great music went sobbing and chiding through her frame, like wounded nightingales.

Senhouse came back to her bedside and put a little flower into her hand