Yet that rejoicing seemed to be almost an effort to the poor mother who craved for a longer letter, and perhaps almost felt as if her Frank were getting out of sympathy with her grief--and what could be the good news? 'Herbert must have passed!' said Constance. 'I hope he has, but the expression is rather strong for that,' said Lady Adela. 'Perhaps Ida is engaged to that Mr. Deyncourt? Was that his name?' said Lady Northmoor languidly. 'Oh! that would be delicious,' cried Constance, 'and Ida has grown much more thoughtful lately, so perhaps she would do for a clergyman's wife.' 'Is Ida better?' asked her aunt, who had been much drawn towards the girl by hearing that her health had suffered from grief for Michael. 'Mamma does not mention her in her last letter, but poor Ida is really much more delicate than one would think, though she looks so strong. This would be delightful!' 'Yet, joy well-nigh incredible!' said her aunt, meditatively. 'Were not those the words? It would not be like your uncle to put them in that way unless it were something--even more wonderful, and besides, why should he not write it to me?' 'Oh--h!' cried Constance, with a leap, rather than a start. 'It can be only one thing.' 'Don't, don't, don't!' cried poor Mary; 'you must not, Constance, it would kill me to have the thought put into my head only to be lost.' Constance looked wistfully at Lady Adela; but the idea she had suggested had created a restlessness, and her aunt presently left the room. Then Constance said-- 'Lady Adela, may I tell you something? You know that poor dear little Mite was never found?' 'Oh! a boat must have picked him up,' cried Amice; 'and he is coming back.' 'Gently, Amy; hush,' said the mother, 'Constance has more to tell.' 'Yes,' said Constance. 'My friend, Rose Rollstone, who lives just by our house at Westhaven, and was going back to London the night that Mite was lost, wrote to me that she was sure she had seen his face just then. She thought, and I thought it was one of those strange things one hears of sights at the moment of death. So I never told of it, but now I cannot help fancying--' 'Oh! I am sure,' cried Amice. Lady Adela thought the only safe way would be to turn the two young creatures out to pour out their rapturous surmises to one another on the winding paths of the Malvern hills, and very glad was she to have done so, when by and by that other telegram was put into her hands. Then, when Mary, unable to sit still, though with trembling limbs, came back to the sitting-room, with a flush on her pale cheek, excited by the sound at the door, Lady Adela pointed to the yellow paper, which she had laid within the Gospel, open at the place. Mary sank into a chair. 'It can't be a false hope,' she gasped. 'He would never have sent this, if it were not a certainty,' said Adela, kneeling down by her, and holding her hands, while repeating what Constance had said.