“Hovering around her ancient home,
   To find no refuge there.”

There was another who could not help seeing her somewhat in that light, and this was Eleonora Vivian, who had come to Compton to be with Frank, when he was at last able to enjoy a well-earned holiday, and with ears restored to their natural powers, though he always declared that his eight months of deafness had done him more good than anything that had ever befallen him in his life.  It had thrown him in on his real self, and broken all the unfortunate associations of his first year in London.  His first few months, while he was still in need of care, had been spent with Miles and Anne, and that tender ministry to him which his sister-in-law had begun in his illness had been with him when he was tired, dispirited, or beset by the trials of a tardy convalescence.  As his interpreter, too, and caterer for the pleasures his infirmity allowed, Anne had been educating herself to a degree that ‘self’ improvement never would have induced.

And when left alone in London, he was able to take care of himself in all ways, and had followed the real leadings of his disposition, which his misdirected courtship had interrupted for the time, returning to the intellectual pursuits which were likely to be beneficial, not only as pleasures, but in an economical point of view; and he was half shy, half proud of the profits, such as they were, of a few poems and essays which he certainly had not had it in him to write before the ordeal he had undergone.

Eleonora’s elder sister, Mrs. Fanshaw, had come home from India with her husband, newly made a Major-General.  Frank had gone to Rockpier early in January, to be introduced to them, and after spending a day or two there, to escort Lena to Compton.  Mrs. Poynsett needed but one glance to assure her that the two were happier than their wooing had ever made them before, save in that one brief moment at Cecil’s party.  Eleonora looked more beautiful, and the look of wistful pain had left her brow, but it had made permanent lines there, as well had seemed likely, and though her laugh would never have the abandon of Rosamond’s, still it was not so very rare, and though she was still like a beautiful night, it was a bright moonlight one.

A few private interviews made the cause of the change apparent.  The sister, Mary Fanshaw, had something of Camilla’s dexterity, but having been early married to a good man, she had found its use instead of its abuse; and though Lena’s trust had come very slowly, she had given it at last, and saw that her elders could deal with her father as she could never do.  Sir Harry respected the General enough to let himself be restrained by him, and the husband and wife were ready to take the charge—­removing, however, from Rockpier, for the religious atmosphere of which they were unprepared, and which General Fanshaw thought very dull.  Affairs were in course of being wound up on the sale of Sirenwood, and the General