She gave it up and tried to sew, but could mot see to take her stitches or thread her needle for the blinding tears. She put on her hat and a veil to hide her tear-stained face and swollen eyes, stole quietly down-stairs and out into the grounds, where she wandered about solitary and sad. Everywhere she missed Edward; she could think of nothing but him and his displeasure, and her heart was filled with sad forebodings for the future. Would he ever, ever love and be kind to her again? After a while she crept back to her apartments, taking care to avoid meeting any one. But Elsie was there looking for her. The children's lesson hours were over, they were going for a drive, and hoped Zoe would go along. "Thank you, mamma, but I do not care to go to-day," Zoe answered in a choking voice, and turned away to hide her tears. "My dear child, my dear, foolish little girl!" Elsie said, putting her arms around her, "why should you grieve so? Ned will soon be at home again, if all goes well. He is not very far away, and if you should be taken ill, or need him very much for any reason, a telegram would bring him to you in a few hours." "But he went away without kissing me good-by; he didn't kiss me last night or this morning." The words were on the tip of Zoe's tongue, but she held them back, and answered only with fresh tears and sobs. "I'm afraid you are not well, dear," Elsie said. "What can I do for you?" "Nothing, thank you, mamma. I didn't sleep quite so well as usual last night, and my head aches. I'll lie down and try to get a nap." "Do, dear, and I hope it will relieve the poor head. As you are a healthy little body, I presume the pain has been brought on merely by loss of sleep and crying. I think Edward must not leave you for so long a time again. Would you like mamma to stay with you, darling?" she asked, with a motherly caress. Zoe declined the offer; she would be more likely to sleep if quite alone; and Elsie withdrew after seeing her comfortably established upon the bed. "Strange," she said to herself as she passed on through the upper hall and down the broad staircase into the lower one, "it can hardly be that Edward's absence alone can distress her so greatly. I fear there is some misunderstanding between them. I think I must telegraph for Edward if she continues so inconsolable. His wife's health and happiness are of far more consequence than any business matter. But I shall consult papa first, of course." She went into the library, found him sitting there, and laid the case before him. He shared her fear that all was not right between the young couple, and remarked that, unfortunately, Edward had too much of his grandfather's sternness and disposition to domineer. "I don't like to hear you depreciate yourself, papa," Elsie said. "Edward may have that disposition without having got it from you. And I am sure mamma would indignantly repel the insinuation that you were ever a domineering husband."