Her husband’s care was unremitting. He was ever by her side. She seemed to turn to him instinctively amid the other strange faces, and to be more quiet and tranquil when he was near. Yet she seldom spoke to him; he was not always certain that she knew him; but that half unconscious dependence was inexpressibly sweet, and Randolph felt hope growing stronger day by day. Surely she was slowly learning to love him; and indeed she was, only she knew it not as yet. Then a day came when the feverish fancies and distressful exhaustion gave way to more cheering symptoms. Monica could leave her room, and leaning on her husband’s arm, wander slowly about the new home that looked so strange to her. The smiles began to come back to her eyes, a faint flush of colour to her cheeks, and when at length she was laid down upon a luxurious ottoman beside the drawing-room fire, she held her husband’s hand between both of hers, and looked up at him with a glance that went to his very heart. “You have been so very, very good to me, Randolph, though I have only been a trouble to you all this time. I never thought I could feel like this away from Trevlyn. Indeed I will try to make you happy too.” He bent down and kissed her, a thrill of intense joy running through him. “Does that mean that you can be happy here, my Monica?” he asked. She was always perfectly truthful, and paused a little before answering; yet there was a light in her eyes and a little smile upon her lips. “It feels very strange,” she said, “and very like a dream. Of course I miss Trevlyn—of course I would rather be there; but——” and here she lifted her eyes with the sweetest glance of trusting confidence. “I know that you know best, Randolph, I know that you judge more wisely than I can do; and that you always think of my happiness first. You have been very, very good to me all this time, far better than I deserve. I am going to be happy here, and when I may go home, I know you will be the first to take me there.” He laid his hand upon her head in a tender caress. “I will, indeed, my Monica,” he answered; “but, believe me, for the present you are better here. You will grow strong faster away from Trevlyn than near it.” She smiled a little, very sweetly. “I will try to think so, too, Randolph, for I am very sure that you are wiser than I; and I have learned how good you are to me—always.” That evening passed very quietly, yet very happily. Was this the beginning of better things to come? [Illustration] CHAPTER THE TENTH. MISCHIEF-MAKERS.