for nothing, there was reason to hope that
the progress of the disease might he arrested,
and that her life might be spared for some
years to come.

Rosamond's heart bounded at the picture
of the future, which her fancy drew from
the suggestions that lay hidden in the doctor's
last words. "She can command every advantage
you have mentioned, and more, if more
is required!" she interposed eagerly, before
her husband could speak again. "Oh, sir, if
rest among kind friends is all that her poor
weary heart wants, thank God we can give
it!"

"We can give it," said Leonard, continuing
the sentence for his wife, "if the doctor will
sanction our making a communication to his
patient, which is of a nature to relieve her
of all anxiety, but which, it is necessary to
add, she is at present quite unprepared to
receive."

"May I ask," said the doctor, "who is to
be entrusted with the responsibility of making
the communication you mention?"

"There are two persons who could be
entrusted with it," answered Leonard. "One
is the old man whom you have seen by your
patient's bedside. The other is my wife."

"In that case," rejoined the doctor, looking
at Rosamond, "there can be no doubt that
this lady is the fittest person to undertake
the duty." He paused, and reflected for a
moment; then added:—"May I inquire,
however, before I venture on guiding your
decision, one way or the other, whether the
lady is as familiarly known to my patient,
and is on the same intimate terms with her,
as the old man?"

"I am afraid I must answer No to both
those questions," replied Leonard. "And I
ought, perhaps, to tell you, at the same time,
that your patient believes my wife to be now
in Cornwall. Her first appearance in the
sick room would, I fear, cause great surprise
to the sufferer, and possibly some little alarm
as well."

"Under those circumstances," said the
doctor, "the risk of trusting the old man,
simple as he is, seems to be infinitely the
least risk of the two—for the plain reason
that his presence can cause her no surprise.
However unskilfully he may break the news,
he will have the great advantage over this
lady of not appearing unexpectedly at the
bedside. If the hazardous experiment must be
tried,—and I assume that it must, from what
you have said,—you have no choice, I think,
but to trust it, with proper cautions and
instructions, to the old man to carry out."

After arriving at that conclusion, there
was no more to be said on either side. The
interview terminated, and Rosamond and
her husband hastened back to give Uncle
Joseph his instructions at the hotel.

As they approached the door of their
sitting-room they were surprised by hearing
the sound of music inside. On entering, they
found the old man crouched up on a stool,
listening to a shabby little musical box which
was placed on a table close by him, and
which was playing an air that Rosamond
recognised immediately as the "Batti, batti"
of Mozart.

"I hope you will pardon me for making
music to keep myself company while you
were away," said Uncle Joseph, starting up
in some little confusion, and touching the
stop of the box. "This is, if you please, of
all my friends and companions the oldest
that is left. The divine Mozart, the king of
all the composers that, ever lived, gave it
with his own hand, madam, to my brother,
when Max was a boy in the music-school at
Vienna. Since my niece left me in Cornwall,
I have not had the heart to make Mozart
sing to me out of this little bit of box until
to-day. Now that you have made me happy
about Sarah again, my ears ache once more
for the tiny ting-ting that has always the
same friendly sound to my heart, travel
where I may. But enough so," said the old
man, placing the box in the leather case by
his side which Rosamond had noticed there
when she first saw him at Porthgenna. "I
shall put back my singing-bird into his cage,
and shall ask, when that is done, if you will
be pleased to tell me what it is that the
doctor has said?"

Rosamond answered his request by relating
the substance of the conversation which had
passed between her husband and the doctor.
She then, with many preparatory cautions,
proceeded to instruct the old man how to
disclose the discovery of the Secret to his
niece. She told him that the circumstances
in connection with it must be first stated, not
as events that had really happened, but as
events that might be supposed to have
happened. She put the words that he would
have to speak, into his mouth, choosing the
fewest and the plainest that would answer
the purpose; she showed him how he might
glide almost imperceptibly from referring to
the discovery as a thing that might be
supposed, to referring to it as a thing that had
really happened; and she impressed upon
him, as most important of all, to keep
perpetually before his niece's mind the fact that
the discovery of the Secret had not awakened
one bitter feeling or one resentful thought,
towards her, in the minds of either of the
persons who had been so deeply interested in
finding it out.

Uncle Joseph listened with unwavering
attention until Rosamond had done; then
rose from his seat, fixed his eyes intently on
her face, and detected an expression of anxiety
and doubt in it which he rightly interpreted
as referring to himself.

"May I make you sure, before I go away,
that I shall forget nothing?" he asked, very
earnestly. "I have no head to invent, it is
true; but I have something in me that can
remember, and the more especially when it