“'Your affectionate Father,'” repeated Mrs. Dugdale. “He hardly ever signed that to me in his life, though I am his very own daughter, and his eldest too. He never signed so to anybody but Fred. Bah! what a big blot He is almost past writing, poor dear man! Come, Agatha, you cannot refuse; you must go.” “She must indeed,” echoed Anne Valery. “Even though the Squire has been so rude as never to ask me or Duke, though Duke saw him this very morning, when he rode over to Kingcombe Holm to tell the news about Uncle Brian.--Bless us, Anne, don't look so. Is there anything astonishing in my father's letter? How very queer everybody seems to-day!” Agatha felt Miss Valery draw her aside. “You will surely go, my dear, since he wishes it.” “But if I don't wish it--if I had far rather stay with you! Why are you so anxious for my leaving you?” “Are you angry with me again, my child?”--Agatha clung to her fondly. “Then go. Behave specially well to your husband's father. And stay--say I am coming to see him to-morrow.” “But you cannot--you are not strong.” “Oh yes, very strong,” Anne returned hastily. “Only go. I will stay contentedly with Dorcas.” Agatha went, very much against her will She had shut herself up entirely for so long. It was a torment to see any one, above all her husband's family, who of course were constantly talking and inquiring about him. The stateliness of Kingcombe Holm chafed her beyond endurance; Mary's good-natured regrets, and Eulalie's malicious prying condolings; worst of all the penetration of Elizabeth. She fancied that they and all Kingcombe were pointing the finger at “poor Mrs. Locke Harper.” Pondering over all these things during the solitary drive, her good resolutions faded out from her, and her heart began to burn anew. It was so hard! She crossed the hall--the same hall where she had alighted when Nathanael first brought her home. It looked dusky and dim, as then. She almost expected to see him appear from some corner, with his light, quick step and his long fair hair. It was hard indeed--too hard! She hurried through, and never looked behind. Eulalie and Mary were sitting solemnly in the drawing-room. “So you are come, Mrs. Harper. We never thought you would come again. We thought you would sit for ever pining in your cage till your mate came back again. What a naughty wandering bird he is!” “Don't, Eulalie. No teasing. I am sure we were all very sorry for your loneliness, dear Agatha.” “Thank you for giving yourselves that trouble.” “Oh, no trouble at all,” said the well-meaning and simple Mary. “And we would have come to see you or fetched you here, but I had to go so much to Thornhurst while Anne was ill, and Eulalie--somehow--I don't know--but Eulalie is always busy.” Eulalie, whose hardest toil was looking in the glass, and patting her dog's ears, assented apologetically. Perhaps she read something in her sister-in-law's face which showed her that Agatha was not to be trifled with.