it. By-and-by she discerned that Gwen came and looked at her, and then that her place was taken by Mrs. Philipson herself, very pale and sad, and full of tenderness, who cautioned her against exertion, and then sat silently beside her till she slept again.

'She will do nicely now-we have nothing more to dread,' said the doctor; and very anxious lest the shock should have injured his older and more valued patient, he put on his liveliest smile of congratulation.

'Perhaps you will yourself write a few lines to that effect to Sir Mark?' asked Mrs. Philip

son.

'Certainly certainly; but you know before he left I had pledged my word to him that there was no danger-nothing which a little sleep and attention would not wholly remove.'

'I wish, dear Mrs. Philipson,' said Eve, when some hours after she regained strength and inclination to speak-'I wish you would not weary yourself by watching me. It is late, is it not?'

'Yes, my child; I shall soon go to bed.'

'That is right; but meanwhile don't stay here. Think how dull it is for poor Mark without you. Go to him and tell him I have

been very foolish.

I remember it all now, and

can say truly, God's will be done.'

'That is right, Eve; in every event strive to feel that. But, my love, Mark is not here. He was obliged to go away again, whenever he knew you were better.'

'Gone!' Eve said, in a low, broken tone. 'Oh! I am so grieved.'

'Yes, it was painful to him to leave us so soon, and to know you could not bid him goodbye.'

Mrs. Philipson tried to steady her voice, but tears rained down her faded cheek. Eve had never seen tears fall so fast.

'Had he always meant to return so quickly?' she asked suddenly, for the idea that he was offended or pained by her conduct was ever ready to start up in her mind.

Nearly as soon,' Mrs. Philipson replied; then added, his original plan was to have left us early in the morning; but when he saw you revive, and heard from Dr. Grant that all evil was over, but that you must not be disturbed for some time, he resolved to return by the mail train which passes R about midnight.'

'Midnight! why, what time is it now?'

6 About nine o'clock.'

'I don't understand it all,' Eve said, wearily. 'A mystery soon solved, dear child; you have slept over many hours. It was yesterday that you were taken ill.’

Eve was silent. The shock was considerable; but Dr. Grant had judged wisely when he advised her being told everything as soon as she regained any strength. It would have startled her more had she unravelled it later.

'And now could you not sleep again?' Eve sighed. Not just yet. I have a

question, a foolish question to ask.’

What is it, my love?"

'He was not vexed with me?'

'Is vexation natural to him?'

'No,' Eve answered; if he is not lenient, he can be patient.'

It was his character of himself, well remembered and thought over for years.

That sounds coldly from you, Eve,' the mother said, quickly.

it.'

He said it himself-I was only recalling

Mrs. Philipson mused.

Perhaps it is just.

And, Eve, is there not more beauty in forbear

ance where we detect error quickly and con

demn it, than where our observation is merely blunted and we do not condemn, simply beIcause we do not see?'

Eve pressed her hand.

Whatever happens, believe in this, my child-your husband loves you.

If you know what love is, you will also know how much it comprehends.'

There was silence for a time, and then Eve asked when Mordaunt was to leave England.

Mrs. Philipson had dreaded the inquiry, but now she marvelled to see how very calmly, though sorrowfully, her reply was heard. No murmur, no entreaty to be allowed to see him, not even a spoken regret that this could not be. She might have wondered less had she understood how completely Eve felt that she had herself passed out of the old and intimate relations which in former years she had borne to him; how perfectly unselfish was her grief at his departure.

Mrs. Philipson was surprised, when she went next morning to her daughter's room, to find her dressed and almost ready to come downstairs. Eve smiled, and begged her to forget all the fright and trouble she had given her.

'My first act,' she continued, gaily, 'must be to write a long, penitent letter to Sir Mark.'

Quickly as Mrs. Philipson's head was turned away, Eve saw, or thought she saw, a quiver of the lip, which startled her.

During breakfast but little was said. Now and then Eve looked up, and thought with great self-reproach how much her own illness had shattered Mrs. Philipson's nerve. The pale face, sunken cheek, and sorrowful eye filled her with alarm, although the usual sweet smile was often attempted.

'Now, little loiterer,' Mrs. Philipson said, cheerfully, seeing that Eve hovered near her. Is this your promise to write directly after breakfast?'

'But you may need me.'

'Vain little woman! have I lived all these years without you, and cannot I exist an hour now without your presence?'

Half doubtfully, Eve withdrew. How painful was the agitation of the aged mother! The hour was at hand when she expected a messenger from her son, and he might bring tidings which were to her almost like death. With bent head and clasped hands she sat, and