I wondered how much Flora understood. Did she guess anything of that unwhispered secret which he promised to tell her in the courts of Heaven? Had she ever given to Duncan Keith what he had given her? I rose at last, and returned the letter to Annas. "Thank you," I said. "You will be glad some day to have had that letter." "I am glad now," said Annas, quietly, as she restored it to its place. "And ere long we shall be glad together. The tears help the journey, not hinder it." "How calm you are, Annas!" I said, wondering at her. "The time for Miss Keith to be otherwise has not come yet," said Mr Raymond's voice behind me. "I think, Miss Courtenay, you have not seen much sorrow." "I have not, Sir," said I, turning to him. "I think I have seen--and felt--more in the last six months than ever before." "And I dare say you have grown more in that period," he made answer, "than in all the years before. You know in what sort of stature I mean." He left us, and went up-stairs, and Ephraim came in soon after. I had no words with Flora alone, and only a moment with Annas. She came with us to the door. "Does Flora understand?" I whispered, as I kissed Annas for good-bye. "I think not, Cary. I hope not. It would be far better." "_You_ do?" said I. "I knew it long ago," she answered. "It is no new thing." We went back to Bloomsbury Square, where I found in the drawing-room a whole parcel of visitors--Mrs Newton and her daughters, and a lot of the Pages (there are twelve of them), Sir Anthony Parmenter, and a young gentleman and gentlewoman who were strangers to me. Grandmamma called me up at once. "Here, child," said she, "come and speak to your cousins. These are my brother's grandchildren--your second cousins, my dear." And she introduced them--Mr Roland and Miss Hilary Carlingford. What contrasts there are in this world, to be sure! As my Cousin Hilary sat by me, and asked me if I went often to the play, and if I had seen Mrs Bellamy, [A noted actress of that day] and whether I loved music, and all those endless questions that people seem as if they must ask you when they first make acquaintance with you,--all at once there came up before me the white, calm face of Annas Keith, and the inner vision of Colonel Keith in his prison, waiting so patiently and heroically for death. And oh, how small did the one seem, and how grand the other! Could there be a doubt which was nearer God? A lump came up in my throat, which I had to swallow before I could tell Hilary that I loved old ballads and such things better than what they call classical music, much of which seems to me like running up and down without any aim or tune to it--and she was giving me a tap with her fan, and saying,-- "Oh, fie, Cousin Caroline! Don't tell the world your taste is so bad as that!"