in the next room, whose looks had not been
of the pleasantest when he had left her a few
minutes before. He sighed a little regretfully
as Ellinor went away. He had obtained the
position he had struggled for, and sacrificed
for; but now he could not help wishing that
the slaughtered creature laid on the shrine of
his ambition were alive again.

The kedgeree was brought up again, smoking
hot, but it remained untasted by him; and
though he appeared to be reading the Times, he
did not see a word of the distinct type. His
wife, meanwhile, continued her complaints of
the untimely visitor, whose name he did not
give to her in its corrected form, as he was not
anxious that she should have it in her power to
identify the call of this morning with a possible
future acquaintance.

When Ellinor reached Mr. Johnson's house
in Hellingford that afternoon, she found Miss
Monro was there, and that she had been with
much difficulty restrained by Mr. Johnson from
following Ellinor to London.

Miss Monro fondled and purred inarticulately
through her tears over her recovered darling,
before she could speak intelligibly enough to
tell her that Canon Livingstone had come
straight to see her immediately on his return
to East Chester, and had suggested her journey
to Hellingford, in order that she might be of all
the comfort she could to Ellinor. She did not
at first let out that he had accompanied her to
Hellingford; she was a little afraid of Ellinor's
displeasure at his being there; Ellinor had
always objected so much to any advance to
intimacy with him that Miss Monro had wished to
make. But Ellinor was different now.

"How white you are, Nelly," said Miss
Monro. "You have been travelling too much
and too fast, my child."

"My head aches!" said Ellinor, wearily.
"But I must go to the castle, and tell my poor
Dixon that he is reprieved,—I am so tired!
Will you ask Mr. Johnson to get me leave to see
him? He will know all about it."

She threw herself down on the bed in the
spare room; the bed with the heavy blue
curtains. After an unheeded remonstrance, Miss
Monro went to do her bidding. But it was now
late afternoon, and Mr. Johnson said that it
would be impossible for him to get permission
from the sheriff that night.

"Besides," said he, courteously, "one scarcely
knows whether Miss Wilkins may not give the
old man false hopes, whether she has not been
excited to have false hopes herself; it might be
a cruel kindness to let her see him, without
more legal certainty as to what his sentence, or
reprieve, is to be. By to-morrow morning, if I
have properly understood her story, which was
a little confused——"

"She is so dreadfully tired, poor creature,"
put in Miss Monro, who never could bear the
shadow of a suspicion that Ellinor was not
wisest, best, in all relations and situations of life.

Mr. Johnson went on, with a deprecatory
bow: " Well then—it really is the only course
open to her besides,—persuade her to rest for
this evening. By to-morrow morning I will
have obtained the sheriff's leave, and he will
most likely have heard from London."

"Thank you! I believe that will be best."

"It is the only course," said he.

When Miss Monro returned to the bedroom,
Ellinor was in a heavy feverish slumber: so
feverish and so uneasy did she appear, that, after
the hesitation of a moment or two, Miss Monro
had no scruple in wakening her.

But she did not appear to understand the
answer to her request; she did not seem even
to remember that she had made any request.

The journey to England, the misery, the
surprises, had been too much for her. The
morrow morning came, bringing the formal free
pardon for Abraham Dixon. The sheriff's
order for her admission to see the old man lay
awaiting her wish to use it; but she knew
nothing of all this.

For days, nay weeks, she hovered between life
and death, tended, as of old, by Miss Monro, while
good Mrs. Johnson was ever willing to assist.

One summer evening in early June she
wakened into memory.

Miss Monro heard the faint piping voice, as
she kept her watch by the bedside.

"Where is Dixon?" asked she.

"At the canon's house at Bromham." This was
the name of Dr. Livingstone's country parish.

"Why?"

"We thought it better to get him into
country air, and fresh scenes, at once."

"How is he?"

"Much better. Get strong, and he shall
come to see you."

"You are sure all is right?" said Ellinor.

"Sure, my dear. All is quite right."

Then Ellinor went to sleep again out of very
weakness and weariness.

From that time she recovered pretty steadily.
Her great desire was to return to East Chester
as soon as possible. The associations of grief,
anxiety, and coming illness, connected with
Hellingford, made her wish to be once again in
the solemn quiet sunny Close of East Chester.

Canon Livingstone came over to assist Miss
Monro in managing the journey with her invalid.
But he did not intrude himself upon Ellinor, any
more than he had done in coming from home.

The morning after her return, Miss Monro
said:

"Do you feel strong enough to see Dixon?"

"Yes. Is he here?"

"He is at the canon's house. He sent for
him from Bromham, in order that he might be
ready for you to see him when you wished."

"Please let him come directly," said Ellinor,
flushing and trembling.

She went to the door to meet the tottering
old man; she led him to the easy-chair that had
been placed and arranged for herself; she
knelt down before him, and put his hands on her
head, he trembling and shaking all the while.

"Forgive me all the shame and misery,
Dixon. Say you forgive me; and give me your