It is called, simply and plainly, after the name of the writer of the Diary--the Story of Anne Rodway." In the short pause that Owen made before he began to read, I listened anxiously for the sound of a traveler's approach outside.

At short intervals, all through the story, I listened and listened again.

Still, nothing caught my ear but the trickle of the rain and the rush of the sweeping wind through the valley, sinking gradually lower and lower as the night advanced.
BROTHER OWEN'S STORY of ANNE RODWAY.
[TAKEN FROM HER DIARY.] ...MARCH 3d, 1840.

A long letter today from Robert, which surprised and vexed me so that I have been sadly behindhand with my work ever since.

He writes in worse spirits than last time, and absolutely declares that he is poorer even than when he went to America, and that he has made up his mind to come home to London.
How happy I should be at this news, if he only returned to me a prosperous man! As it is, though I love him dearly, I cannot look forward to the meeting him again, disappointed and broken down, and poorer than ever, without a feeling almost of dread for both of us.