He kissed her hand at parting, and gave her a long, long look of miserable regret that tried her composure hard, and often recurred to her memory. She went up to London, took a small suburban house, led a secluded life, and devoted herself to her art, making a particular study now of sacred music; she collected volumes of it, and did not disdain to buy it at bookstalls, or wherever she could find it. Ashmead worked for her, and she made her first appearance in a new oratorio. Her songs proved a principal feature in the performance. Events did not stand still in Barfordshire; but they were tame, compared with those I have lately related, and must be dispatched in fewer words. Aunt Maitland recovered unexpectedly from a severe illness, and was a softened woman: she sent Fanny off to keep Zoe company. That poor girl had a bitter time, and gave Doctress Gale great anxiety. She had no brain fever, but seemed quietly, insensibly, sinking into her grave. No appetite, and indeed was threatened with atrophy at one time. But she was so surrounded with loving-kindness that her shame diminished, her pride rose, and at last her agony was blunted, and only a pensive languor remained to show that she had been crushed, and could not be again the bright, proud, high-spirited beauty of Barfordshire. For many months she never mentioned either Edward Severne, Ina Klosking, or Lord Uxmoor. It was a long time before she went outside the gates of her own park. She seemed to hate the outer world. Her first visit was to Miss Gale; that young lady was now very happy. She had her mother with her. Mrs. Gale had defeated the tricky executor, and had come to England with a tidy little capital, saved out of the fire by her sagacity and spirit. Mrs. Gale's character has been partly revealed by her daughter. I have only to add she was a homely, well-read woman, of few words, but those few--grape-shot. Example--she said to Zoe, “Young lady, excuse an old woman's freedom, who might be your mother: the troubles of young folk have a deal of self in them; more than you could believe. Now just you try something to take you out of self, and you will be another creature.” “Ah,” sighed Zoe, “would to Heaven I could!” “Oh,” said Mrs. Gale, “anybody with money can do it, and the world so full of real trouble. Now, my girl tells me you are kind to the poor: why not do something like Rhoda is doing for this lord she is overseer, or goodness knows what, to?” Rhoda (defiantly), “Viceroy.”