called an asylum than an hospital, for it is
intended as a shelter for the sick and destitute;
but yet those who are received into it
are expected to contribute to their own support."

He made no answer to this explanation.
After all, it interested him little now to know
that his Ella had not been a mere object of
the charity which is extended to paupers.
His pride had died within him, for his
nature had been much changed; but, only as
such natures change. His faults had withered
away, but no good qualities seemed as yet to
burst forth to flourish in their stead. The
soul had been so utterly ruined and devastated,
the portion of living waters had been so completely
dried up, that he seemed merely to
have lost the inclination to do wrong—that
was all.

"We are a small party of friends," the
lady went on; "some of us in the heyday
of prosperity, but who, amid all the triumphs
of youth, wealth, and beauty, have not
quite forgotten the poor, the sick, and the
miserable: others, who, like myself, are
fallen into the yellow leaf of life—whose
years cannot of necessity be many—may be
very few—and who would fain do something
in the great vineyard before they are called
away. It is our practice for some of us to visit
this place every day, to see our patients,
attend to their wants and comforts, and,
where it is desired, administer by our conversation
such helps and solace as we can. I
come here pretty often, for I am not one who
is very much occupied upon this earth; and,
as I love to sit with the sufferers, and am
more aged than the majority of them, they
seem to lean upon me a good deal. They love
to have me with them; and many of the
younger ones have treated me with a confidence,
which has excited, I can scarcely say
whether more satisfaction or pain."

He still spoke not, but listened with deep
attention.

"A few months ago," she continued, "the
matron of the establishment came to me one
morning, and said that a young lady had
been received here some days ago, whom she
wished me very much to visit. I had but
the day before returned from an excursion
into the country, and had been absent from
my post about a fortnight. I asked, at whose
recommendation the patient had been received.
She said—that of Lady R., but that
Lady R. knew nothing about her. It was at
the earnest solicitation of the wife of the
Baker, who supplied her family with bread,
that Lady R. had given the order; the
woman, who was a very plain sort of person,
but highly respectable in her way, having
assured her that it was a case of the most
urgent necessity: that the young lady was
utterly penniless and destitute, and in an
almost hopeless state of health. She had
brought on a decline, by over-exertion to
maintain a sick sister, and pay some debts of
that sister's, which she thought herself bound
in honour to discharge,—'and other expenses,'
she added, somewhat mysteriously,—promising
that she would advance the required
guinea a-week; for, as for the young lady,
she did not believe that she had five shillings
left in the world."

He struck his hand fiat at the top of his
head, and held it there, leaning his elbow upon
the table, so that his arm covered in part his
face, which was painfully contracted; but
he neither spoke, nor groaned, nor even
sighed.

"I went up to the young lady's room
immediately. Our rooms are each provided
with a single bed, a sofa, an easy chair, a table,
and such other requisites as make a chamber
at once a bedroom and a sitting-room.

"The matron knocked gently at the door;
but no one answered it; she therefore gently
turned the handle of the lock, and we
went in.

"The window was open. Hers looked upon
those greea trees you see at the back of the
house, and the fresh air came pleasantly in;
but it seemed unheeded by the sufferer. She
was clothed in a long white sleeping-gown. One
arm was thrown above her head; her hair had
gotten from her comb, and fell in waves and
curls of the utmost beauty and luxuriance,
almost to her feet. She lay with her face
upward, resting upon the back of her head,
almost as motionless as a corpse; her features
were fixed; her eyes rested upon the top of
the bed. She seemed lost in thought. Never
in my life have I seen anything so supremely
beautiful."

"Ella—Ella!" he just muttered.

"When we approached the side of the bed,
she first perceived us, gave a little start,
glanced at the matron, and then, with a look
of rather displeased surprise at me—

"'I beg your pardon if I intrude upon you,'
I said. 'Mrs. Penrose asked me to pay you a
visit. I am but just returned from the country.
I spend a good deal of my time when in town
with the sick ladies here, and they seem to
like to have me; but if you do not, I will go
away directly.'

"She made an impatient and half-contemptuous
motion of the head as I used the words
'sick ladies;' but she fixed her large, lustrous
eyes upon me as I went on speaking—saying
nothing, however, when I concluded, but
keeping those large dark eyes fixed upon
my face.

"'Shall I go?' I said, after a little time
thus spent.

"She made a gesture as if to stop me—but
without moving those large mournful eyes, in
which I could see that tears were slowly
gathering.

"Mrs. Penrose had already left the room.
I said no more; but took a chair, sat down by
the bed-side, and laid mine upon her thin,
fevered, but most exquisitely-formed hand.

"I gave a gentle, gentle pressure; it was