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CHAPTER XXI.
WOUNDED BUT NOT CAUGHT.
Only a silent grief
When in her room alone;
But tears bring no relief
When every hope is flown.
Only the constant memory
Of their meeting 'neath the trees,
Yet a girl's fine heart is breaking
Over trifles such as these."
"Why, let the stricken deer go weep,
The hart ungallèd play;
For some must watch, while some must sleep,
So runs the world away."—Shakespeare.
Mrs. Dowling was one of those genial, sunny natures who have a warm welcome for all. A specially cordial one she extended to Gwyneth as she met her at the open French window.
"Come in, child," she said. "You look pale, and usually you have such a fresh colour. What is the matter, my dear?"
"Nothing, thank you; I hurried rather."
"Well, then, sit down, and give me all the news," and the old lady proceeded to retail hers.
"I must tell you about Eva's good fortune," said the garrulous old dame. "She has gone to Gumford, you'll
