sometimes wandered a little in his mind.
His thoughts were continually with Neville:
"Oh, that he would come, ere it be too
late!"

The dark hours passed, one by one, each
struck out by the clock below, with startling
loudness. Twice during the night my mother
glided in, nightcapped, and enveloped in a
large shawl. At length the signs of morning
became apparent. The grey dawn smote the
windows, and put to shame the waning rushlight.
Little birds came fluttering out of
their warm nests; far across the meadow
stretched the tiny river like a belt of cloud;
and the purpling sky became beautiful to
look upon. Suddenly rny father sat up in
bed. "Draw up the blinds and open the
windows," he said. "So. The morning air
tastes sweet. Hush! I hear him coming!
I know his footstep. It is Neville's! At
last he is here!"

I looked out. There was no one to be seen
but a solitary haymaker toiling along the
white road. Again the sick man dozed.
Helen came in to resume her post as watcher;
and, after one lingering look I left the room,
accompanied by Ruth. Suddenly there came
a ring at the front door. With a beating
heart I hastened down to open it. There
stood Neville. By what fine intuitive sense
my father had foreknown his coming, it is
impossible for me to say. Or was it merely a
coincidence? A fervent grasp of the hand
was our only greeting. I led the way up
stairs. My father was awake, and lying
with his face towards the door.

"Bring him in, Caleb," he said, as I paused
on the threshold. "I knew that my boy
would come," he added, while a happy
smile spread over his thin face. "I was
searching for him long, last night; but
I found him at last, and I knew that he
would come!"

"O father!" was all that Neville could
cry, as he sank down by the bedside, and
buried his face in the clothes.

My father stretched forth a pallid hand,
and laid it gently on his head. "Kiss me,
Neville, as you used to do when a child.
Ah me! how the old times rush back over
my memory, when you were all children
together, and no black shadow had blighted
our hearth!"

Neville groaned.

"Hush, poor boy," said my father, gently.
"Month after month I have longed and
prayed for this hour to come. It has come,
and with it, the time to clear up our doubts.
Neville, answer me truly; did your cousin
Philip fall by your hand?"

"Oh, believe me, I knew not what I did!"
cried Neville. "Guilty I must be, since you
say that he was murdered, but not knowingly
guilty. I was dragged to it, forced to it, by
a power within me which I could not control.
But let me confess everything. Bear
with me a short time, while I relate to
you my dark story of passion and crime.
You all know that I loved Olive Graile—
from a child I loved her; at first as
children love, unknowing and uncaring why;
and afterwards, as boys love, with more of
worship than of earthly passion. It was
partly her wilful and capricious disposition,
and partly her beauty that captivated me.
I had reason to believe that my affection was
not unrequited. Thus the matter went on,
till, on coming back from a two years'
voyage, I met her for the first time after
my return at a party at our house. She had
shot up into a charming woman during my
absence. A few minutes were sufficient to
let her see that I still loved her as warmly
as ever. For the first few days after our
meeting, her manner was gentle, retiring,
and full of maidenly coyness. She was
luring me on. That fortnight was the
happiest of my life. I ventured one afternoon
to tell her all that I hoped and feared.
She smote me with a haughty stare, and a
curl on her lip; wondered what could have
induced me to talk in that absurd fashion;
hoped that she should never hear again of
anything so ridiculous; and left me speechless,
confused, and burning with anger and
shame. When I next saw her, she treated
me exactly as she had treated me before
the afternoon on which I told her that I
loved her.

"Her treatment of me was a puzzle which
I could not solve; but I had too much faith
in the sincerity of my own attachment to
think for a moment that she was coquetting
with me. Suddenly I was summoned to rejoin
my ship. I sought her for a last interview.
She seemed sorry that I was going,
and said she hoped I would not forget her
when far away; adding that she should often
think of me, and long for my return. The
old passionate words sprang to my lips; but
bearing in mind my previous lesson, I
restrained them, and crushed them back into
my heart. At parting, she gave me a little
packet, desiring that I would not open it till
she was gone. It contained that lock of hair
which you, Caleb, accidentally saw. What was
I to think? How was I to regard this token
after what had occurred between us? I did
as I suppose most lovers do—I looked on the
rosy side of the question, and went away
with a buoyant, loving heart, holding her
sweetly in my thoughts as my future wife.
At that time she was positively engaged to
Philip: that I learnt afterwards, when it
was too late. All that voyage her image
was with me continually, keeping me
company in the lonely night-watches; in
sunshine, and in storm, ever by my side—all that
voyage, till the fatal quarrel with my captain
took place; after which, I lay for many
weeks unconscious of everything. After my
arrival at home, disgraced as I thought for
ever, I struggled long and fiercely against
my passion, striving to wrench it out of