A mild and placid woman, she was of a singularly sweet disposition; and although she was chained to her chair by her affliction, she never complained. The paralysis extended only to her limbs, but her brain was still active, and she could give, and did give, her daughter excellent advice in connection with the business. The sorrowful expression on her face showed how keenly she had felt the loss of Emma. But that was not the only melancholy event in her life; there were others which will be spoken of in due course. Mrs. Colmer was not without her troubles, but she had her consolations also, and of these the love of Anne was the greatest. On the day of Fanks' arrival the old lady was seated in her usual place, between five and six, waiting for Anne. Tea was ready for the girl, but Mrs. Colmer had already been fed by her nurse, and was looking forward to the usual conversation which took place at this time. All day Anne was busy in the shop, and Mrs. Colmer was left to her own devices; but when the labours of the day were ended, mother and daughter met to converse. To Mrs. Colmer this had been the happiest hour of the day--but that was before Emma went to London. She still talked to Anne, and took an interest in domestic and local affairs; but she was haunted by a feeling of impending evil, and she clung despairingly to her remaining child, dreading lest she should meet with the fate of her sister. An atmosphere of apprehension existed in Briar Cottage. In due course Anne entered, and, having kissed her mother, sat down to tea. She was as beautiful as ever, but there was a haggard look on her face which accorded but ill with her youth. It would seem as though she dreaded the future also, and was expecting the happening of some terrible misfortune. After a short discussion of domestic matters the conversation languished, for, wrapped in her own thoughts, Anne did not seem inclined to talk. Mrs. Colmer noticed this, and commented thereon with affectionate solicitude, bent on knowing what made Anne so absentminded. "Is there anything wrong, my dear?" she asked nervously. "Nothing, mother; I am a little tired, that is all." "There is more than that, Anne. For some days you have not been at all like yourself." "Can you wonder at that, mother?" replied Anne, bitterly. "Think of all that has happened this last month." An angry light came into the faded eyes of the old woman. "You should be glad of what has happened," she said in a stern voice; "that wicked man has been punished for his evil courses. He drove my Emma to her death, and himself has perished by violence. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; that is Scripture." "All the same, mother, I wish that he had not been murdered. Gregory was a brute, I know, and the death of poor Emma lies at his door; but murder--" she shuddered. "It is so terrible to think that he should have been cut off in the midst of his wickedness."