"It is of him that Dr. Ryton would speak,"
Mr. Morton said.

"Of him? Spare me!" I exclaimed.

"You saw him brought home, and you
remember nothing more, do you, Mrs. Warden?"
Dr. Ryton asked.

"Nothing more!" and as I spoke the
terrible sight that ghastly dawn broke upon,
came back to me, how vividly. "Cruel!" I
cried, hastily. "Why do you torture me?
But, yes! it is right, do not spare me, I did
not spare him. Tell me all,—I am firm and
quiet."

"If God, whose goodness you have doubted,
in His infinite mercy—"

"Be gentle," Mr. Morton pleaded. "See,"
and he pointed to my quivering frame. I
could not control that,—every word seemed
to lacerate my wakened heart.

"Mrs. Warden, God has been infinitely
good to you. When you were taken away,
your husband was not dead."

"Did he live to forgive me? Did he speak
of me?" I asked.

I did not at all gather their meaning yet.
How should I anticipate such mercy?

"He often spoke of you,—he often speaks
of you: your husband lives, but—"

Dr. Ryton was very wise! That but—
perhaps it prevented my dying of surprise
and joy, and life grew precious.

"He lives, but he does not forgive me!" I
said. "I deserve that pain, but it is terrible."

Dr. Ryton did not answer me, but said:—

''There is a slight stir up-stairs; your
aunt is coming down, and the door is open;
you might go in and watch now, but remember
agitation will kill your little girl. She
will tell you that her father has kissed her
this very night, and you must not look surprised.
Can you trust yourself."

I bowed my head and rose. My pain had
gone, it was all a dream, I thought; a dream
in which life and death, and grief and joy
moved confusedly.

I stumbled a little way. I thought it had
been day-break, but there came night. I
felt about in the black-darkness, and could
find no way out of it.

My strength was overtasked; it gave way
utterly.

Yet I did not find rest, for I did not
entirely lose consciousness. The many days
that I lay ill, I struggled against the darkness
round me, and tried with my feeble
hands to clear it away from before my eyes.
I wanted to think and to understand—I had
dreadful dreams or thoughts, I know not
which to call them, as I lay, and these haunted
me long after. The central idea was always
that of Harold alive, stern and unforgiving.
Once I fancied we met in a crowded
London street, that I rushed to him, and
fell down at his feet—that he spurned me
away.

When the mist clouding my mind at last
cleared away,—it was, I remember, towards
the end of a very serene, beautiful day—I
found that they had laid my Lily beside me,
that it was her kisses on my cheek that
roused me, though I had dreamed that other
lips had been pressed there. With an intense
longing tenderness, not all for her, I took her
gently into my arms. What a joy to know
her yet mine! How beautiful and loving
she was!

"Papa has been here, mamma; dear papa
kissed me!" were the first words she said.

"A dream, my darling!" I answered;
"Mamma has been dreaming, too."

"No, mamma, aunt says it is true. He
bent over me, and gave me a long, long kiss,
just as he used of a night, at home."

"When was it, my darling?"

"The same morning that I wanted you,
and aunt said you could not come. Did he
not kiss you, mamma?"

I did not answer, and the little girl's
head dropped wearily down upon the pillow.

"Why are you crying, dear mamma?"
she asked, soon again lifting up her head to
look into my face.

"I am so glad to have you, my darling. So
glad you are getting well." I kissed her,
and she soon fell asleep.

Not long after, Aunt Aston came up with
some tea. "It is true, then?" I asked.
"He has been here? Where is Dr. Ryton?
How long is it since I was laid here?"

"Yes, he came, dear. Dr. Ryton went
home with him. You have been ill several
days."

"Where? Where does he call home,
aunt?"

"London. He is gone back to London."

"He is gone, then!" My heart was very
sick and sad, and yet I was very grateful to
God. I turned away, and let the tears flow
from under my closed lids.

I sobbed quietly a long while, and then
some new purpose dawned upon me. I would
not lie and weep and lament, I would—But
I was so weak, what could I do? Trust in
God—who was loading me with mercy and
kindness—and wait.

"Won't you have your tea, dear?" aunt
asked, timidly.

I sat up and took it. Then my head felt
cool and clear, and I seemed stronger. It
was still early in the evening, so I humbly
asked aunt to help me dress, I wanted to go
down. She said Dr. Ryton would return
to-night, I must speak to him and hear all.
When I was dressed I sat down beside my
child, and watched her quiet sleep. She was
very thin and weak still, but Aunt Aston
told me that she was to go out to-morrow,
if it were as still and mild as to-day, and
that the doctors, said that now she would get
over the fever, and be stronger than she
had ever been before.

I asked aunt to go down, and to let me know
when Dr. Ryton would see me.

When she went, I slipped down on my