brother's coming home. That could hardly be,
she knew, until an hour past midnight; but
in the country silence, which did anything
but calm the trouble of her thoughts, time
lagged wearily. At last, when the darkness
and stillness had seemed for hours to thicken
one another, she heard the bell at the gate.
She felt as though she would have been glad
that it rang on until daylight; but it ceased,
and the circles of its last sound spread out
fainter and wider in the air, and all was dead
again.

She waited yet some quarter of an hour, as
she judged. Then she arose, put on a loose
robe, and went out of her room in the dark,
and up the staircase to her brother's room.
His door being shut, she softly opened it and
spoke to him, approaching his bed with a
noiseless step.

She kneeled down beside it, passed her arm
over his neck, and drew his face to hers. She
knew that he only feigned to be asleep, but
she said nothing to him.

He started by and by as if he were just
then awakened, and asked who that was, and
what was the matter?

"Tom, have you anything to tell me?
If ever you loved me in your life, and have
anything concealed from every one besides,
tell it to me."

'' I don't know what you mean, Loo. You
have been dreaming."

"My dear brother:" she laid her head down
on his pillow, and her hair flowed over him
as if she would hide him from every one but
herself: "is there nothing that you have to
tell me? Is there nothing you can tell me,
if you will. You can tell me nothing that will
change me. O Tom, tell me the truth!"

"I don't know what you mean, Loo."

"As you lie here alone, my dear, in the
melancholy night, so you must lie somewhere
one night, when even I, if I am living then,
shall have left you. As I am here beside you,
barefoot, unclothed, undistinguishable in
darkness, so must I lie through all the night of
my decay, until I am dust. In the name of that
time, Tom, tell me the truth now!"

"What is it you want to know?"

"You may be certain;" in the energy of
her love she took him to her bosom as if he
were a child; "that I will not reproach you.
You may be certain that I will be
compassionate and true to you. You may be
certain that I will save you at whatever cost.
O Tom, have you nothing to tell me? Whisper
very softly. Say only 'yes,' and I shall
understand you!"

She turned her ear to his lips, but he
remained doggedly silent.

"Not a word, Tom?"

"How can I say Yes, or how can I say No,
when I don't know what you mean? Loo,
you are a brave, kind girl, worthy I begin to
think of a better brother than I am. But I
have nothing more to say. Go to bed, go to
bed."

"You are tired," she whispered presently,
more in her usual way.

"Yes, I am quite tired out."

"You have been so hurried and disturbed
to-day. Have any fresh discoveries been
made?"

"Only those you have heard of, from—
him."

"Tom, have you said to any one that we
made a visit to those people, and that we saw
those three together?"

"No. Didn't you yourself particularly ask
me to keep it quiet, when you asked me to
go there with you?"

"Yes. But I did not know then what was
going to happen."

"Nor I neither. How could I?"

He was very quick upon her with this
retort.

"Ought I to say, after what has happened,"
said his sister, standing by the bed—she had
gradually withdrawn herself and risen, " that
I made that visit? Should I say so? Must
I say so?"

"Good Heavens, Loo," returned her brother,
"you are not in the habit of asking rny advice.
Say what you like. If you keep it to
yourself, I shall keep it to myself. If you disclose
it, there's an end of it."

It was too dark for either to see the other's
face; but each seemed very attentive, and to
consider before speaking.

"Tom, do you believe the man I gave the
money to, is really implicated in this crime?"

"I don't know. I don't see why he shouldn't
be."

"He seemed to me an honest man."

"Another person may seem to you
dishonest, and yet not be so."

There was a pause, for he had hesitated
and stopped.

"In short," resumed Tom, as if he had
made up his mind, "if you come to that,
perhaps I was so far from being altogether in
his favor, that I took him outside the door
to tell him quietly, that I thought he might
consider himself very well off to get such a
windfall as he had got from my sister, and
that I hoped he would make a good use of it.
You remember whether I took him out or
not. I say nothing against the man; he may
be a very good fellow, for anything I know;
I hope he is."

"Was he offended by what you said?"

"No, he took it pretty well; he was civil
enough. Where are you, Loo?" He sat up
in bed and kissed her. "Good night, my dear,
good night!"

"You have nothing more to tell me?"

"No. What should I have? You wouldn't
have me tell you a lie?"

"I wouldn't have you do that to-night,
Tom, of all the nights in your life; many and
much happier as I hope they will be."

"Thank you, my dear Loo. I am so tired,
that I am sure I wonder I don't say anything,
to get to sleep. Go to bed, go to bed."