I have thought sometimes, Zara dear, that you did not look as happy as--as--I would like you to look." Happy! the mockery of the word! "Ethelrida," Zara whispered hurriedly--"don't--don't ask me anything about it, please, dear.

No one can help me.

I must come through with it alone--but you of Tristram's own family, and especially you whom he loves so much, I don't want you ever to misjudge me.

You think perhaps I have made him unhappy.

Oh, if you only knew it all!--Yes, I have.