In all the self-sacrifice she had practised, because she thought he could not bear to hear the truth, she saw now nothing but one long corroding lie.

It was owing to the want of confidence in each other, of mutual candour--to their both having shunned the truth, the only sure ground of happiness, that their life together had been thus spoilt.

She threw back her head with a look of wild energy in her face, and never had she looked more handsome than now, as she exclaimed decisively-- "But there shall be an end of this! Salve and I shall no longer make a desert of each other's life!" and she rose from her chair in great agitation.
"What are you saying, Elizabeth ?" asked her aunt, whom she had unconsciously awakened.
"Nothing, dear aunt," she answered, and bent over the invalid with a cup of broth, which she had been keeping warm over the night-light.
"You look so--so happy, Elizabeth." "It is because you have slept so well, aunt; and if you drink this you will go to sleep again." There was a quiet smile on her lips now, and her whole bearing was changed.

The burden of years was taken off her heart.

At last the chilling, heavy, bewildering fog which had enclosed her whole life, making every footstep, every thought, every joy uncertain, had lifted, and she could clearly see her way..