Albinia began to think her proposal cruel, and prefaced it by a few words on the state of the case.  The little bit of romance touched the kind heart.  Mrs. Rainsforth was shocked to think of the grief the governess must have suffered in secret while aiding to bear her burdens, and was resolved on letting her have this respite, going eagerly to assure her that she could well be spared; baby was better, and papa was better, and the children would be good.

But Genevieve knew too well how necessary she was, and had been telling Mr. Kendal of the poor little mother’s anxieties with her many delicate children, and her husband’s failing health.  She could not leave them with a safe conscience; and she would not show how she longed after quiet, the country, and her aunt.  She stood firm, and Albinia could not say that she was not right.  Mrs. Rainsforth was distressed, though much relieved, and was only pacified by the engagement that Miss Durant should, when it was practicable, spend a long holiday with her friends.

‘At home!’ said Mr. Kendal, and the responsive look of mournful gratitude from beneath the black dewy eyelashes dispelled all marvel at his son’s enduring attachment.

He was wonderfully patient when Mrs. Rainsforth could not be content without Mrs. Kendal’s maternal and medical opinion of the baby, on the road to and from the nursery consulting her on all the Mediterranean climates, and telling her what each doctor had said of Mr. Rainsforth’s lungs, in the course of which Miss Durant and her romance were put as entirely out of the little lady’s mind as if she had never existed.

The next day the Kendals set their faces homewards, leaving Maurice till the surgeon’s work should be done, and Fred, as the aunts fondly hoped, to be their nursling.

But, behold!  Sunday and Monday Colonel Fred spent in bed, smiling incessantly; Tuesday and Wednesday on the sofa; Thursday in going about London; Friday he was off to Liverpool; Saturday had sailed for Canada.

Albinia was coming nearer to the home that was pulling her by the heart-strings.  Hadminster was past, and she had heard the welcome wards, ‘All well,’ from the servant who brought the carriage; but how much more there was to know than Sophy’s detailed letters could convey—­Sophy, whose sincerity, though one of the most trustworthy things in the world, was never quite to be relied on as to her own health or Maurice’s conduct.

At the gate there was a little chestnut curled being in a short black frock, struggling to pull the heavy gate open with her plump arms, and standing for one moment with her back to it, screaming ’Mamma!  Papa!’ then jumping and clapping her hands in ecstasy and oblivion that the swing of the gate might demolish her small person between it and the horse.  But there was no time for fright.  Sophy caught her and secured the gate together; and the first glimpse assured Albinia that the hard gloom was absent.  And there was Maurice, leaning against the iron rail of the hall steps; but he hardly moved, and his face was so strangely white and set, that Albinia caught him in her arms, crying, ‘Are you well, my boy?  Sophy, is he well?’