“Stephen came to see me this morning. He is in wretched health, and seems to have an unaccountable dislike to talking about you. I told him to come and see me this afternoon, and I expect he is waiting for me now. I shall send Wilfred to see you to-morrow. Good-bye, you good child. I don’t know what to wish for you.” And Lilian, whose movements were slow and languid, and whose beautiful face had grown thin with illness, kissed her sister-in-law affectionately and left her. CHAPTER XXVI. Annie did not sleep that night. Thoughts of poor Aubrey and the wreck the clever young man had made of his life, and remorse at her own share in bringing it about, occupied part of the weary, wakeful night, and brought some tears to her eyes. But her mind went back again and again to the husband who had deserted her, whose address was in the hands of Muriel West, and whom she upbraided one moment and prayed for the next. For the sentiment planted by his own forbearance and tenderness had struck deep root during these months of suspense which had followed, in spite of the shortness of his letters and the long periods of silence between, in spite of his ingratitude in not acknowledging the sacrifices she had made to help him, in spite of her doubts of his fidelity, in spite of the indifference his never once coming to see her had seemed to prove. The fact was that Annie had at last found something to respect in her husband. During that week which dwelt so continually in her memory, he had taken his rightful place as her superior, owing to the discovery which had forced her to appear before him as a culprit. She hoped and even prayed that the reason he had given for leaving her--viz., his determination to work for himself and her, rather than live on her money--might prove to be the true one, so that he might deserve the place he had insensibly won in her heart. Yet how to reconcile the love which had prompted this determination with his acquaintance with Muriel West, his giving to this woman the jewelry she had deprived herself of to help him out of his difficulties, with the fact that it was to Muriel she had been referred for his address, and with his acceptance, without a word of acknowledgment, of her money? In spite of all, she would fain have cleared him of these charges, and, failing that, she was ready to take the greater share of the blame of his misconduct on her shoulders, and to forgive him the rest, if he would but ask for forgiveness. All the excuses which she had refused to make for the headstrong bridegroom of twenty, when she, the bride of eighteen, shut up her heart against her rough, boyish husband, now appealed to her with irresistible force. He was so young; he had been so badly brought up; his family had been “wild” for generations; he had meant to treat her kindly, and his marriage with her had been the result of a generous impulse; he had given up drinking since his illness, for