If Mr. Coventry, before he set all this mischief¹ moving, could have seen the INSIDE of Grace Carden's letter to Henry Little!  
“DEAR MR. LITTLE,—I do not know whether I ought to write to you at all, nor whether it is delicate of me to say what I am going; but you have saved my life, and I do so want to do all I can to atone² for the pain I have given you, who have been so good to me. I am afraid you will never know happiness, if you waste your invaluable³ life longing⁴ after what is impossible. There is an impassable barrier between you and me. But you might be happy if you would condescend⁵ to take my advice, and let yourself see the beauty and the goodness of another. The person who bears this letter comes nearer to perfection than any other woman I ever saw. If you would trust my judgment⁶ (and, believe me, I am not to be mistaken in one of my own sex), if you could turn your heart toward her, she would make you very happy. I am sure she could love you devotedly⁷, if she only heard those words from your lips, which every woman requires to hear before she surrenders her affections. Pray do not be angry with me; pray do not think it cost me little to give this strange but honest advice to one I admire so. But I feel it would be so weak and selfish in me to cling to that, which, sooner or later, I must resign, and to make so many persons unhappy, when all might be happy, except perhaps myself.
 
“Once more, forgive me. Do not think me blind; do not think me heartless; but say, this is a poor girl, who is sadly perplexed⁸, and is trying very hard to be good and wise, and not selfish.
 
“One line, to say you will consider my advice, and never hate nor despise your grateful and unhappy friend.
 
“GRACE CARDEN.”
 
When she had dispatched this letter, she felt heroic.
 
The next day, she wished she had not written it, and awaited the reply with anxiety.
 
The next day, she began to wonder at Little's silence: and by-and-by she was offended at it. Surely what she had written with so great an effort was worth a reply.
 
Finally, she got it into her head that Little despised her. Upon this she was angry with him for not seeing what a sacrifice she had made, and for despising her, instead of admiring her a little, and pitying her ever so much. The old story in short—a girl vexed⁹ with a man for letting her throw dust in his eyes.
 
And, if she was vexed with Little for not appreciating her sacrifice, she was quite as angry with Coventry and Jael for being the causes of that unappreciated sacrifice. So then she was irritable¹⁰ and cross. But she could not be that long: so she fell into a languid, listless state: and then she let herself drift. She never sent Jael to the church again.
 
Mr. Coventry watched all her moods; and when she reached the listless stage, he came softly on again, and began to recover his lost ground.
 
On the fifth of January occurred a rather curious coincidence. In Hillsborough Dr. Amboyne offered his services to Mrs. Little to reconcile her and her brother. Mrs. Little feared the proposal came too late: but showed an inclination¹¹ to be reconciled for Henry's sake. But Henry said he would never be reconciled to a man who had insulted his mother. He then reminded her she had sent him clandestinely¹² into Raby Hall to see her picture. “And what did I see? Your picture was turned with its face to the wall, and insulting words written on the back—'Gone into trade.' I didn't mean to tell yell, mother; but you see I have. And, after that, you may be reconciled to the old scoundrel if you like; but don't ask me.” Mrs. Little was deeply wounded by this revelation. She tried to make light of it, but failed. She had been a beauty, and the affront¹³ was too bitter. Said she, “You mustn't judge him like other people: he was always so very eccentric. Turn my picture to the wall! My poor picture! Oh, Guy, Guy, could one mother have borne you and me?” Amboyne had not a word more to say; he was indignant himself.
 
Now that very afternoon, as if by the influence of what they call a brain-wave, Grace Carden, who felt herself much stronger with Mr. Raby than when she first came, was moved to ask him, with many apologies, and no little inward tremor¹⁴, whether she might see the other side of that very picture before she went.
 
“What for?”
 
“Don't be angry, uncle dear. Curiosity.”
 
“I do not like to refuse you anything, Grace. But—Well, if I lend you the key, wil............