There is no sin—of course not—and therefore, no harm being done, every one ought to be satisfied; only when flirting Virtue becomes, as it does in such cases, brazen-faced, the question arises whether Sin, with averted head and downcast eyes, be not the easier vanquished opponent of the two. At all events, without for a moment insinuating that Mrs. Douglas Croft was other than the most discreet of British matrons, it is open to doubt whether the most indiscreet of women could have given Heather Dudley one-half so many heart-aches as did that amiable and estimable wife. Had Mrs. Dudley been wise and philosophic, she would doubtless have reflected that Arthur, never having been a peculiarly agreeable addition to the family circle, was quite as well out of it; but then, Heather, being neither wise nor philosophic, fretted herself over her husband’s defection till she almost lost her beauty. A great mistake! She had loved this poor, weak husband, borne with him through the years, lightened his troubles, been obedient to his slightest wish, and this was the result;—that he deserted her whenever the woman who had jilted him held up her finger to beckon him back; that he forgot all his wife’s faith, and truth, and tenderness, and remembered only he had once been attached to this handsome virago, whose preference flattered his vanity; who felt pleased to have this old admirer following in her train. Well! Heather had long known she did not possess her husband’s heart; and if this were a fact, what could it matter to whom he gave it? Thus she strove to reason herself into contentment; but a woman is not the most reasonable creature in existence where her affections are interested, and accordingly, perhaps, she was as Arthur decided, a little wayward and exacting; a wife burdened at that time with many anxieties, amongst which, perhaps, the worst was—Lally. For as the leaves fell, Lally had drooped, and now, when Christmas was at hand once again, the child drooped more and more. There could be no question about the matter, Lally was very ill indeed; far more seriously ill than when twelve months previously Bessie had “kissed her to pieces” under the misletoe, and hung up holly branches over her bed. CHAPTER VI. FOR EVERMORE. After her return from Hastings, Heather lost no time in taking Lally and Mr. Stewart’s letter to Mr. Rymner Henry. That great man did not pay quite such devoted attention to his new patient as Doctor Chickton had considered necessary; on the contrary, Mrs. Dudley thought him a little negligent. He asked few questions; he did not “take much notice” of the child; he was a little stand-off and ceremonious; he was at no pains to win Lally’s heart. He expressed no opinion on the case, and declined to say how long he thought it might be before she was well.