She only said, “Thank you, I will take some wine; I like to keep up good old customs,”--and waited while Mrs. Harper, with a quick excited manner, and a countenance that changed momentarily, did the first honours of her household. So sad it was to see her doing it all alone! More widow-like than bride-like. As she came up with the wine-glass, Miss Valery caught her hand, holding it firmly in defiance of Agatha's slight effort to get free. “Wait a minute for my good wishes to the bride. May God bless you! Not with fortune, which is oftentimes only a curse”-- “That is true,” muttered Agatha, bitterly. “Not with perfect freedom from care, for that is impossible, or, if possible, would not be good for you. Every one of us must bear our own burden; and we can bear it, if we love one another.” Agatha's lips were set together. “If,” continued Anne, firmly--“If we love any one with sincerity and faithfulness, we are sure to reap our reward some time. If any love us, and we believe it and trust them, they are sure to come out clear from all clouds, our own beloved, true to the end. Therefore, Agatha, above all blessings, may God bless you with _love_! May you be happy in your husband, and make him happy! May you live to see your home merry and full--not silent!--may you die among your children and your own people--not alone!” The sudden solemnity of this blessing, enhanced by the feebleness of the voice that uttered it, awoke strange emotions in Agatha. She threw herself on her knees by the armchair, where Anne lay back--now faint and pale. “Oh, if you had been near me--if I had known you always, and you had brought me up, and made a good woman of me.” “Perhaps I ought,” murmured Anne, thoughtfully. “But, just then, it would have been so hard--so hard!” “What are you saying? Say it again. All your words are good words. Tell me.” “Nothing, dear. Except”--here Miss Valery raised herself with a sudden effort mental and bodily--“Agatha, will you go with me to Weymouth?” “If you like. Anywhere to be with you. I am sick of myself.” “We all are at times, especially when we are young, and do not quite understand ourselves or others. The feeling passes away. But as to Weymouth--do you still dislike to go near the sea?” “Yes--no! I will try to bear it; I think I could, by your side. And you shall not go alone on any account.” “Thank you,” said Anne, taking her hand. So they went. An innocent line of railway darted past Kingcombe, in the vain hope of waking that somnolent town. It was a pleasant whirl across the usual breezy flats of moorland, by some meadows where a network of serpentine streams flashed in the sun. Agatha felt more like her own self; with her, the spirit of Nature was always an exorciser of internal demons; and Anne's conversation aided the beneficent work. At Dorchester they took a carriage, and drove across the country to Weymouth. “Are you not getting weary? you looked so but lately,” said Agatha to Miss Valery.