later, the housekeeper beckoned Mrs. Crowdie
out of the room.

A little after, Mr. Crowdie received a similar
summons, and it became known that Laura
Jane was not in a satisfactory state. She had
become feverish and delirious, talking wildly of
the accident, and of her rescue.

Mr. Crowdie came down with an anxious look
on his broad visage.

"We think, Purkiss, that she wants to see
you."

"Me, my dear sir?"

"Yes. Would you mind stepping up? My
wife will be greatly obliged to you."

In a minute or two, I was beside the poor
girl's couch; her mother and the nurse standing
opposite, her father at the foot. Her cheek
was flushed, and her eyes, bright and restless
with fever, rolled eagerly from face to face, till
they dwelt on mine. Then a sudden change
came over her. She became calm, stretched
out her little hand to me, and, closing her eyes,
seemed as if she would sleep, still keeping my
fingers prisoner.

"Who shall sit up with her, my dear?" asked
Mr. Crowdie. " Stop! Her lips move. She
knows us. She's trying to speak. Ask her,
Dick, who shall sit by her?"

I repeated the question.

"You," was the embarrassing reply. And the
little patient sank into a refreshing sleep.

As soon as I was able to release my hand,
without risk of disturbing her, her mother
supplied my place, and I returned to the
drawing-room. All the fair company, however, even
my newly-affianced Susan, had disappeared. But
I was not long left alone. Mr. Crowdie soon
rejoined me. His manner was embarrassed.

"Purkiss," he said, " the child whose life you
saved is very dear to me. Ahem! You do not
desire to embitter the existence you have
preserved?"

I emphatically disclaimed any such intention.

"Then listen to me, Dick," resumed Mr.
Crowdie. " My wife and I have arrived at the
conclusion that your noble act has left an
impression upon our dear girl's mind stronger than
mere gratitude—-to be effaced only with life."

"My good sir," I gasped.

"One moment. You are about to refer to
Susan. Banish that anxiety. She is a sensible,
affectionate girl, and has (I may as well mention)
already assured us that no claim, no
predilection of her own, shall—-You understand.
Permit us to welcome your alliance as
the husband of my Laura Jane, and our happiness
is complete."

What could I say? My affections were manifestly
regarded as transferable, and they were
transferred on the spot. I had the pleasure
that very night of shaking hands with Mrs.
Crowdie as the betrothed of Laura Jane!

"Humph!" I thought, as I lay down rather
tired, " three engagements in one day will
satisfy my uncle that I have not been idle!"

I was up with that bird which is erroneously
supposed to be the earliest of fowls, because he
makes most disturbance about it, and enjoyed a
glorious plunge in the limpid lake. On my way
back from the bathing-house, towel in hand, I
encountered Miss Adelaide. She was, I think,
the third daughter, and reputed, by many, the
beauty of the family, having a small classic head,
regular features, and large dark eyes, into which
there came, at intervals, a peculiar gleam. Like
her mother, she was reserved. I hastened to
greet her, and then eagerly added, " And now,
pray tell me of our dear invalid? She has
rested well, I hope?"

"She has rested well. And 'dear' she is,
indeed, Mr. Purkiss, to all our hearts,"

"You need not tell me that," I replied
significantly. "I can only say that, if the most
devo——"

But——"

"The most unalterable attachm——"

"Stop, I beg of you!" cried my companion.
"Oh, my dear Mr. Purkiss, I have something to
—-to explain. There's a mistake."

"No—-really? Another!" I muttered.

"You noticed that my dear sister clasped
your hand." (I bowed gravely.) " And, when
invited to say who should watch beside her,
what did she reply?"

"You—-meaning me"

"So my father thought also, dear friend. But
the sound deceived you both. She said, " Hugh,
—-not 'you'—-and—-and forgive me, she meant
Sir Hugh Sagramore, to whom, it appears, the
warm-hearted child has become attached."

"The sound is not dissimilar," I owned—-a
little disconcerted. " Still——"

"If you knew how sorry I am to tell you
this," said the pretty Adelaide, laying her
fingers on my arm. (They were white, and
beautifully carved at the taper points.) "Dear
Mr. Purkiss, take comfort."

"I shall endeavour to do so," I replied, in a
hollow voice. " It is a blow."

"There is a balm for every wound," said Miss
Adelaide, gently.

"But what kind hand shall administer it?"
I asked.

The large lustrous eyes turned upon me for a
moment, and were as suddenly averted. My
companion was silent. She was drawing
something on the gravel-terrace with her parasol,
and, to my eye, it took the form of a human
heart, with a perforation in the larger valve. I
accepted the omen.

"Miss Crowdie—-Adelaide!——"

She gave a little start.

"Can I, dare I, hope that you, who knew
so well how to alleviate the pain of this
announcement, will enable me to forget it
altogether?"

As I believe I have hinted before, such dialogues
are confidential. I shall merely remark,
that Adelaide and I returned to the house
together, and that I whispered to my sweet
companion, as we entered the breakfast-parlour,

"I shall beg an audience of papa after break-
fast!"

The bluff squire saved me the trouble, however,