And now with all her troubles thick about her,—­while her son was still hanging about the house in a condition that would break any mother’s heart, while her daughter was so wretched and sore that she regarded all those around her as her enemies, Lady Carbury finished her work, and having just written the last words in which the final glow of enduring happiness was given to the young married heroine whose wheel had now come full round, sat with the sheets piled at her right hand.  She had allowed herself a certain number of weeks for the task, and had completed it exactly in the time fixed.  As she sat with her hand near the pile, she did give herself credit for her diligence.  Whether the work might have been better done she never asked herself.  I do...