She had been in Wales once since her bridal visit once when the cloud upon her spirits was blackest-so there was little fresh sympathy between them. Mrs. Philipson, however, had seen rather deeper into her daughter's secrets. She had been left alone with her for a day, during which she had exerted herself earnestly to cheer her. Temporarily she had succeeded; and Eve, sitting smiling beside her, looked more like Jane Desborough's pet than anything yet seen at Coed Herddin. Suddenly as the old lady gazed admiringly upon her, she saw the light fade, the smiling lip tremble, the eye quail-it was but too natural to ask 'What is wrong?' when her son stood before her. His coming had wrought the change. It was a heavy blow to the mother's heart.

The day was almost gone.

'Would you not like me to light the room?' Gwen asked, softly, as she stole to her mistress's side.

'No, Gwen, the twilight is pleasanter to me.'

Gwen, whose gay spirits always sank into despondency whenever care or grief encountered her, and who was thoroughly disheartened by Mrs. Philipson's illness, could ill brook the

falling shadows, the melting away of familiar objects into dim dark masses, or the misty, dreamy evening atmosphere, with which the sick room was soon filled. But to her mistress there was no gloom in the obscurity, only

repose.

'Beneath the shadow of thy wings,' she murmured to herself; and there was the truest spirit of submissive love and trust in her heart, as she watched the coming on of night, that weariest of all periods to the sufferer. She thought without a regret of the drawing on of the night of old age, and the lying down peacefully in the grave. Only dawn comes earlier there.'

Not that Mrs. Philipson was especially concerned about her present illness, or particularly expected it would be fatal. Death comes in every guise, and to all ages. She knew the chances were, that at hers he might come with less note of preparation; but it was many years since she had learned to look calmly-nay, gladly on his probable advent.

Gwen's spirits sank lower and lower; she was half afraid she should sob aloud. She glanced anxiously at the shadowy bed; she began to hope her mistress slept. There was

no movement, so very cautiously she stole away, just to breathe a breath of evening air, and exercise for a few moments that well-hung tongue, which the silence sadly constrained. Mrs. Philipson smiled to herself a little quaint smile as she saw the last gleam of the departing figure. She was neither fretful nor unreasonable; she knew the girl loved her warmly, though not with that kind of devoted love which counts nothing a sacrifice. The shadows

deepened, and the grey twilight was growing into darkness. She had dozed off for a few seconds, as old people often do, but it was not a pleasant dream. She seemed cold and lonely-she was standing by the tomb of that infant daughter whose memory lay buried like a precious jewel in her heart. She yearned for her presence and her love; she even wept when she thought a soft hand was stretched forth from that grassy resting-place, and a voice, sweet as an angel's, said, 'Do not mourn, mother, I am here.'

A little start of joy-a slow, solemn sense of awakening to every-day life—and lo! it was but a dream; only her hand was clasped in one as soft as that in the vision, and by-andby a kiss was pressed upon her forehead.

'Who is it?' she whispered, for the influence of the dream was on her still.

'Only your daughter Eve,' a voice answered, in low, sweet, deprecatory accents; going on then more quickly-Mark could not come just now—and, indeed, he hoped you were not ill enough to need him very much-not more, at least, than you always need him; but I am idle, you know, and I used to be vain of my nursing powers, so he sent me to keep them in practice; and, if I may ask you the greatest of all favours, it is that you will not send me away.'

Not a word, a pause, a tone, but went straight to Mrs. Philipson's heart. Somehow, she had never before noticed how sweet the voice was. She lay an instant without replying, thinking of it. There was a tone in it like her son's, which was the music of her life. There had been no resemblance once. Presently she said, 'I was listening, in hopes you would say more. Do you know, it sounded

like his voice.'

'Like his!' Eve's heart leaped within her, and, unconsciously, she pressed the thin hand she held.

'You are very good to come; you must be very tired

Eve felt the hand relax and grow chillythe sentence was not finished. In an instant she sprang to the table, struck a light, touched a bell, and was again beside her, gently raising her head, bathing her forehead, and seeking to revive her. Gwen came immediately, but Mrs. Philipson had rallied almost

as soon.

My dear,' she said, opening her eyes gratefully on the pale face which hung over her so tenderly, you did well to come-you are a good nurse you are so gentle. Thank you, my love.'

Eve would have made a dozen toilsome pilgrimages to have gained such a reward. Before the post left next day, she was confirmed in her gladness that she had come. Mrs. Philipson was very weak, and needed incessant care and watching; she needed nourishment also, and Gwen had not influence sufficient to prevail on her to take it often enough. But, to please Eve, she would exert herself to comply with every request. Eve's letters to Sir Mark were less an effort than she had expected; there was so much to tell him about the invalid. But what she did not tell was the great improvement she had herself effected;