circumstances might at once overthrow.

But so entirely had Mrs. Costello identified herself with her daughter
in all her habits and thoughts, that that dwelling on the future, which
is the special prerogative of youth, seemed as natural to her as though
her own life had all lain before, instead of behind her; and she found
herself perpetually occupied with the consideration of what was best to
be done for that future which had been so often taken, as it were, out
of her guidance.

Sitting by her husband's deathbed, however, the long-estranged wife
seemed to live a double life. The recollection of the past--of the short
and secret courtship with its illusions, greater and more perilous than
love's illusions commonly are--of her first days of married life, when,
in spite of her rash disobedience, she was feverishly happy; of the
awaking, and total disenchantment, and the wretched years that followed,
all came to her in a floating, broken vision, filling her with emotions
which had, at last, lost their bitterness. She yielded to them without
resistance and without effort, and sank into a long silence, which was
broken at last by Mr. Strafford.

"I must leave you," he said. "The boat starts in half an hour, and I
want to see Mrs. Bellairs for a moment."

Mrs. Costello roused herself.

"Good-bye, then," she answered. "Dear Mr. Strafford, you know I have
long ago given up trying to thank you for all you do for me; you must
accept obedience as a proof of gratitude."