Then she would have a gleam of joy; for she knew he had not written to Ina Klosking. But soon Despondency came down like a dark cloud; for she said to herself, “He has left us both. He sees the woman he does not love will not let him have the one he does love; and so he has lost heart, and will have no more to say to either.” When her thoughts took this turn she would cry piteously; but not for long. She would dry her eyes, and burn with wrath all round; she would still hate her rival, but call her lover a coward--a contemptible coward. After her day of raging, and grieving, and doubting, and fearing, and hoping, and despairing, night overtook her with an exhausted body, a bleeding heart, and weeping eyes. She had been so happy--on the very brink of paradise; and now she was deserted. Her pillow was wet every night. She cried in her very sleep; and when she woke in the morning her body was always quivering; and in the very act of waking came a horror, and an instinctive reluctance to face the light that was to bring another day of misery. Such is a fair, though loose, description of her condition. The slight fillip given to her spirits by the journey did her a morsel of good, but it died away. Having to nurse Aunt Maitland did her a little good at first. But she soon relapsed into herself, and became so _distraite_ that Aunt Maitland, who was all self, being an invalid, began to speak sharply to her. On the second day of her visit to Somerville Villa, as she sat brooding at the foot of her aunt's bed, suddenly she heard horses' feet, and then a ring at the hall-door. Her heart leaped. Perhaps he had come to explain all. He might not choose to go to Vizard Court. What if he had been watching as anxiously as herself, and had seized the first opportunity! In a moment her pale cheek rivaled carmine. The girl brought up a card-- “LORD UXMOOR.” The color died away directly. “Say I am very sorry, but at this moment I cannot leave my aunt.” The girl stared with amazement, and took down the message. Uxmoor rode away. Zoe felt a moment's pleasure. No, if she could not see the right man, she would not see the wrong. That, at least, was in her power. Nevertheless, in the course of the day, remembering Uxmoor's worth, and the pain she had already given him, she was almost sorry she had indulged herself at his expense. Superfluous contrition! He came next day, as a matter of course. She liked him none the better for coming, but she went downstairs to him. He came toward her, but started back and uttered an exclamation. “You are not well,” he said, in tones of tenderness and dismay. “Not very,” she faltered; for his open manly concern touched her. “And you have come here to nurse this old lady? Indeed, Miss Vizard, you need nursing yourself. You know it is some time since I had the pleasure of seeing you, and the change is alarming. May I send you Dr. Atkins, my mother's physician?” “I am much obliged to you. No.”