He was right; Mrs. Poynsett was touched by finding that Cecil clung to them rather than to her sublime family, and especially by the design as to little Raymond, though she said that must never be mentioned; nothing must bind so young a creature as Cecil, who really did not know what love was at all.

“She is afraid the sight of her is distressing to you,” said Rosamond.

“Poor child, why should she?” said Mrs. Poynsett.  “She was the victim of an unsuccessful experiment of my dear boy’s, and the unsuspecting instrument of poor Camilla’s vengeance.  That is all I see in her.”

“Mrs. Poynsett, how can you!” cried Rosamond, impetuously.  “With all I know of her sorrow, I rage at her whenever I am out of sight of her.”

“I can’t do that,” said Mrs. Poynsett, half smiling, “any more than I could at a doll.  The poor thing was in a false position, and nobody was more sorry for her than Raymond himself; but you see he had fancied that marriage must bring the one thing it would not in that short time.”

“It would, if she had not been a little foolish donkey.”

“Or if Camilla Tyrrell had let her alone!  It is of no use to rake up these things, my dear Rosamond.  Let her come to Sirenwood, and do such good as she can there, if it can comfort her.  It was for my sake that the unconscious girl was brought here to have her life spoilt, and I would not stand in the way of what seems to be any relief.”

“But is it no pain?” persisted Rosamond.

“No, my dear.  I almost wish it was.  I shall never get on with her; but I am glad she should come and be near you all; and Miles likes her.”

Mr. Charnock demurred at first, and wanted to saddle Cecil with her old governess as a companion, but when he found that Mrs. Poynsett and Miles made no objection, and remembered that she would be under their wing, and would be an inestimable adviser and example to Anne, he consented; and Cecil’s arrangements were made with startling rapidity, so that she was in possession before Christmas, which she insisted on spending there.  Dunstone had stereotyped hospitalities, which she could not bear, and would not prevent, and now that her first year of widowhood was over, the sorrow was not respected, while it seemed to her more oppressive than ever.

So there she was in vehement activity; restless rather than religious in her beneficence still, though the lesson she had had showed itself in her constantly seeking the advice of Miles, who thought her the most sensible woman in the world, except his Nan.  Whether this constant occupation, furnishing, repairing, planning, beautifying her model cottages, her school chapel, and all the rest, were lessening the heartache, no one knew, but the sharp black eyes looked as dry and hard, the lines round the mouth as weary as ever; and Rosamond sometimes thought if Sirenwood were not full of ghosts to her, she was much like a ghost herself who came