Again, she remained in so much doubt about this singular brother and sister--their strange seclusion, and grief, and inactivity--their mysterious and abrupt removal, which evidently was to avoid meeting her, perplexed herself so much that she did not venture to confide even in Mrs. Catherine. She brooded over her secret by herself; she slept little--rested little--took long, solitary, meditative walks, and much exercise, and felt herself more than ever abstracted from the busy little world about her. She was becoming a solitary, cheerless woman, cherishing in silent sadness one great hope; a hope with which strangers might not intermeddle--which was foolishness to her own nearest friends--which might never be realized upon this earth--nevertheless a hope in which her whole nature was concentrated--the very essence and aim of her being. She did not even reveal to Mrs. Catherine her suspicion her hope, that Lilie was the child of her banished brother. She cherished it in her own mind as a secret strength and comfort. She endeavored in all gentle ways to supply the want of the mother after whom the little heart yearned, and she was successful. Lilie began to call her aunt--to watch in childish anxiety for her daily visits--to wander about anywhere, unwearied and joyous, so long as Anne was leading her, and to look to her at all times as her dearest friend and protector. Then these childish confidences--these snatches, of dear remembrance of the far-away mamma--these glances into the household of the exile! Anne drew new invigoration, strength, and hope from these, in the darkest time of her depression. Yet all endeavors for her great end were stayed--no one lifted a hand in the cause of the injured man--no one made any exertion to deliver him. In the bright sunshine of that leafy month of June her heart sickened within her. She longed to return again to the place where something might be done, where with a prospect of success, or without it, she might still labor; she might still engage in the search. In the meantime, everything went on peaceably in the parish of Strathoran. Jeanie Coulter and Walter Foreman had made up their mind, and were speedily to be married. Ada Mina, in the glory of being bridesmaid and bride's sister, had almost forgotten Giles Sympelton. Marjory Falconer was very remarkably quiet; she was "beginning to settle." Mrs. Bairnsfather said, maliciously, "and it was high time." Mr. Ferguson's work was advancing in the bleak lands of Lochend and Loelyin. Mr. Coulter and he were very busy, and in high spirits. Lord Gillravidge had left Strathoran. The fair country, in the height of its summer beauty, had no attractions for Lord Gillravidge. There was no game to slaughter, and other kind of excitement, the quiet Norland parish had never possessed any.