warn Sir Albert how necessary was this speed.
"More than one life depends on your coming,"
wrote George, yielding to the illusory hope.
"She is my betrothed wife; I cannot bear her
loss." Then, mounting his swiftest horse, he
flew to Rosedale.

Esther's next act, after writing to her lover,
was to order a carriage. Nobody thought of
remonstrance. There was something in her
manner that forbade interference with anything
she might do. Alone and veiled, she got into
the carriage, and was driven to The Haie.
There she asked if she could be permitted to
see Miss Mulcaster alone, or, if not alone, with
her mother.

Miss Mulcaster was alone, in the garden,
but she had been somewhat indisposed. The
servant hesitated.

"I too am an invalid," said Esther, smiling
sweetly, and, lifting her veil, disclosed a
countenance now white as a shroud. The servant
turned and led the way.

Mildred was walking pensively on one of the
side terraces. She turned, with some surprise,
to meet the unannounced visitor.

"Forgive, I beg of you, this intrusion,"
began Esther.

The face and voice sufficed: Mildred waved
the servant away. They were alone.

"My object is threefold," said Esther: "to
see you—to entreat your pardon—and to repair,
if I may, the injury I have done to you, and to
another. My name is Esther Vann."

"Esther Vann!" exclaimed Mildred, the
colour rushing into her cheeks, " and you
come——"

"Suffer me to speak," said Esther, "and do
not wonder, nor be alarmed. I am dying. I
have but a few short hours to live, and those,
perhaps, marked with such agony as to make
death, imminent as it is, too tardy. Again,
I pray you not to fear, but, in charity, to
hear my words. I am dying from the poison
of a mad dog's foam, infused into an
accidental scratch on my hand. You turn pale,
and look pitifully on me. That is kind and
hopeful, for my time——" she pressed her hands
forcibly on her bosom—"I must be quick. Miss
Mulcaster, you were to have been George's wife.
He loved you—will do so still. As for me, it
was a short and transient dream. If he has
wronged you, oh, forgive him; has not he
something to forgive? Take back from my dying
hand the treasure I had no right to win. He
he is coming to-night. I have written to him
to come and bid me farewell. Let me have this
comfort—dying so young—that I have reunited
those hands that should not have fallen
asunder; reunited them, never to part again,
until we all meet beyond the tyranny of doubts,
and pains, and tears." As she concluded, she
sank at Mildred's feet.

The latter, weeping, stooped to raise and
embrace her, but Esther refused.

"Speak, only speak. Answer me, do you
grant my prayer? What shall I say to him
when he comes?"

"Say," whispered Mildred, drowned in tears,
"say that / have nothing to forgive, much to
repent of."

"Enough, I will go," said Esther, rising with
difficulty to her feet; and resisting, with a sort
of mingled fierceness and entreaty, Mildred's
eager offers of support and succour, made her
way to the carriage, and returned to Rosedale.

All that day the convulsive paroxysms
recurred at intervals, the progress of the disease
being apparently but slightly checked by the
palliatives to which she had recourse. The
patient became more and more intolerant of light;
the slightest touch increased her suffering, and
the mere mention of any fluid nourishment
brought on the convulsive tremor.

It was dark when George arrived. It would
be needless to depict the young man's passionate
despair. In vain he had striven to nerve
himself for the meeting. The sight of her he
loved, dying in such a manner, and for him,
broke down his manhood. Of the two, Esther
was the more composed. She made him sit
beside her, and, having somewhat calmed his
sorrow, told him, after due preparation, what
she had done that day, ending by entreating
him, as he would impart some comfort to her
dying hour, to accept the peace she had. prepared
for him, and seek, in the renewal of his earliest
—perhaps most warranted—attachment,
forgetfulness of this sharp but transitory grief.

George heard her with doubt and bewilderment,
as if he hardly understood her words, or
thought them expressions of delirium; but she
convinced him to the contrary, and pressed
her entreaties in such wise, that he at length
gave way.

"If it be my misery to live," he said, in a
broken voice, "I will do it. I will do
anything that you command."

"I am happy," said Esther, softly. Soon
after she sank into an exhausted sleep.

To the surprise of those around, there was,
on the morrow, no aggravation of the symptoms.
The dread march of the disease seemed to be
arrested. But Mr. Woford warned them
against any delusive hopes, adding, with truth,
that such periods of relief were known to occur.

George's express returned from London
almost as swiftly as he had sped thither. He
brought a letter from Sir Albert Ray, containing
as might indeed be expected but little
comfort. The eminent physician had cases on
his hands as urgent, if less distressing, but
would use his utmost endeavours to comply
with George's summons. He cautioned his
young friend, however, to expect no real benefit
from his coming, and, adverting to the cases
instanced by George, owned that there was
reason to believe that the parties in question
might have been inoculated with the virus
producing rabies at some antecedent period
unknown to themselves. He added some brief
suggestions for the patient's medical attendants.

"Just what I am doing," remarked Mr.
Woford, with a satisfied air.

It was not until the fourth morning had