CHAPTER XI.
MISS FARRINGDON'S WILL Time speeds on his relentless track, And, though we beg on bended knees, No prophet's hand for us puts back The shadow ten degrees.
During the following winter Miss Farringdon gave unmistakable signs of that process known as "breaking-up." She had fought a good fight for many years, and the time was fast coming for her to lay down her arms and receive her reward.

Elisabeth, with her usual light-heartedness, did not see the Shadow stealing nearer day by day; but Christopher was more accustomed to shadows than she was--his path had lain chiefly among them--and he knew what was coming, and longed passionately and in vain to shield Elisabeth from the inevitable.

He had played the part of Providence to her in one matter: he had stood between her and himself, and had prevented her from drinking of that mingled cup of sweetness and bitterness which men call Love, thinking that she would be a happier woman if she left untasted the only form of the beverage which he was able to offer her.

And possibly he was right; that she would be also a better woman in consequence, was quite another and more doubtful side of the question.

But now the part of Elisabeth's Providence was no longer cast for Christopher to play; he might prevent Love with his sorrows from coming nigh her dwelling, but Death defied his protecting arm.