And the summer wore away and the dripping autumn came, and with each
week, each day almost, Josiah seemed to shrivel.

It was not very noticeable at first, after the ten days of sharp illness
which had prostrated him when he received the fatal letter.

He appeared to recover almost from that, and they went down to
Bessington Hall at the beginning of July. But there was no further talk
of a second honeymoon.

Theodora's tenderness and devotion never flagged. If her heart was
broken she could at least keep her word, and try to make her husband
happy. And so each one acted a part, with much zeal for the other's
welfare.

It was anguish to Josiah to see his wife's sweet face grow whiter and
thinner; she was so invariably bright and cheerful with him, so
considerate of his slightest wish.

His pride and affection for her had turned into a sort of adoration as
the days wore on. He used to watch her silently from behind a paper, or
when she thought he slept. Then the mask of smiles fell from her, and he
saw the pathetic droop of her young, fair head and the mournful gloom
that would creep into her great, blue eyes.

And he was the stumbling-block to her happiness. She had sent away the
man she loved in order to stay and be true to him, to minister to his
wants, and do her utmost to render him happy. Oh, what could he do for
her in return? What possible thing?