"It would be hard to part," said Mr. Rivers, sighing; "yet I should be relieved to see her in good hands, so pretty and engaging as she is, and something of an heiress. With our dear Flora, she is secure of a happy home when I am gone, but still I should be glad to have seen--" and he broke off thoughtfully.

"She is so sensible, that we shall see her make a good choice," said Dr.

May, smiling; "that is, if she choose at all, for I do not know who is worthy of her."

"I am quite indifferent as to fortune," continued Mr. Rivers. "She will have enough of her own."

"Enough not to be dependent, which is the point," said Dr. May, "though I should have few fears for her any way."

"It would be a comfort," harped on Mr. Rivers, dwelling on the subject, as if he wanted to say something, "if she were only safe with a man who knew how to value her and make her happy. Such a young man as your Norman, now--I have often thought--"

Dr. May would not seem to hear, but he could not prevent himself from blushing as crimson as if he had been the very Norman, as he answered, going on with his own speech, as if Mr. Rivers's had been unmade, "She is the brightest little creature under the sun, and the sparkle is down so deep within, that however it may turn out, I should never fear for her happiness."

"Flora is my great reliance," proceeded Mr. Rivers. "Her aunt, Lady Leonora, is very kind, but somehow she does not seem to suit with Meta."

"Oh, ho," thought the doctor, "have you made that discovery, my good friend?"

The voices of the two boys were heard in the hall, explaining their achievements to Meta, and Dr. May took his departure, Hector driving him, and embarking in a long discourse on his own affairs as if he had quite forgotten that the doctor was not his father, and going on emphatically, in spite of the absence of mind now and then betrayed by his auditor, who, at Dr. Spencer's door, exclaimed, "Stop, Hector, let me out here--thank you;" and presently brought out his friend into the garden, and sat down on the grass, talking low and earnestly over the disease with which Mr. Rivers had been so long affected; for though Dr.

May could not perceive any positively unfavourable symptom, he had been rendered vaguely uneasy by the unusual heaviness and depression of manner. So long did they sit conversing, that Blanche was sent out, primed with an impertinent message, that two such old doctors ought to be ashamed of themselves for sitting so late in the dew.

Dr. Spencer was dragged in to drink tea, and the meal had just been merrily concluded, when the door bell rang, and a message was brought in. "The carriage from the Grange, sir; Miss Rivers would be much obliged if you would come directly."

"There!" said Dr. May, looking at Dr. Spencer, as if to say, I told you so, in the first triumph of professional sagacity; but the next moment exclaiming, "Poor little Meta!" he hurried away.

A gloom fell on those who remained, for, besides their sympathy for Meta, and their liking for her kind old father, there was that one unacknowledged heartache, which, though in general bravely combated, lay in wait always ready to prey on them. Hector stole round to sit by Margaret, and Dr. Spencer muttered, "This will never do," and sent Tom to fetch some papers lying on his table, whence he read them some curious accounts that he had just received from his missionary friends in India.

They were interested, but in a listening mood, that caused a universal start when the bell again sounded. This time, James reported that the servant from the Grange said his master was very ill--he had brought a letter to post for Mr. George Rivers, and here was a note for Miss Ethel. It was the only note Ethel had ever received from her father, and contained these few words:

"DEAR E.--,

"I believe this attack will be the last. Come to Meta, and bring my things. R. M."

Ethel put her hands to her forehead. It was as if she had been again plunged into the stunned dream of misery of four years ago, and her sensation was of equal bewilderment and uselessness; but it was but for a moment--the next she was in a state of over-bustle and eagerness. She wanted to fly about and hasten to help Meta, and could hardly obey the word and gesture by which Margaret summoned her to her side.

"Dear Ethel, you must calm yourself, or you will not be of use."

"I? I can't be of any use! Oh, if you could go! If Flora were but here!

But I must go, Margaret."

"I will put up your father's things," said Dr. Spencer, in a soothing tone. "The carriage cannot be ready in a moment, so that there will be full time."

Mary and Miss Bracy prepared Ethel's own goods, which she would otherwise have forgotten; and Margaret, meanwhile, detained her by her side, trying to calm and encourage her with gentle words of counsel, that might hinder her from giving way to the flurry of emotion that had seized her, and prevent her from thinking herself certain to be useless.

Adams was to drive her thither in the gig, and it presently came to the door. Dr. Spencer wrapped her up well in cloaks and shawls, and spoke words of kindly cheer in her ear as she set off. The fresh night air blew pleasantly on her, the stars glimmered in full glory overhead, and now and then her eye was caught by the rocket-like track of a shooting-star. Orion was rising slowly far in the east, and bringing to her mind the sailor-boy under the southern sky; if, indeed, he were not where sun and stars no more are the light. It was strange that the thought came more as soothing than as acute pain; she could bear to think of him thus in her present frame, as long as she had not to talk of him. Under those solemn stars, the life everlasting seemed to overpower the sense of this mortal life, and Ethel's agitation was calmed away.

The old cedar-tree stood up in stately blackness against the sky, and the lights in the house glanced behind it. The servants looked rather surprised to see Ethel, as if she were not expected, and conducted her to the great drawing-room, which looked the more desolate and solitary, from the glare of lamplight, falling on the empty seats which Ethel had lately seen filled with a glad home party. She was looking round, thinking whether to venture up to Meta's room, and there summon Bellairs, when Meta came gliding in, and threw her arms round her.

Ethel could not speak, but Meta's voice was more cheerful than she had expected. "How kind of you, dear Ethel!"

"Papa sent for me," said Ethel.

"He is so kind! Can Margaret spare you?"

"Oh, yes; but you must leave me. You must want to be with him."

"He never lets me come in when he has these attacks," said Meta. "If he only would! But will you come up to my room? That is nearer."

"Is papa with him?"

"Yes."

Meta wound her arms round Ethel, and led her up to her sitting-room, where a book lay on the table. She said that her father had seemed weary and torpid, and had sat still until almost their late dinner-hour, when he seemed to bethink himself of dressing, and had risen. She thought he walked weakly, and rather tottering, and had run to make him lean on her, which he did, as far as his own room door. There he had kissed her, and thanked her, and murmured a word like blessing. She had not, however, been alarmed, until his servant had come to tell her that he had another seizure.

Ethel asked whether she had seen Dr. May since he had been with her father. She had; but Ethel was surprised to find that she had not taken in the extent of his fears. She had become so far accustomed to these attacks, that, though anxious and distressed, she did not apprehend more than a few days' weakness, and her chief longing was to be of use. She was speaking cheerfully of beginning her nursing to-morrow, and of her great desire that her papa would allow her to sit up with him, when there was a slow, reluctant movement of the lock of the door, and the two girls sprang to their feet, as Dr. May opened it; and Ethel read his countenance at once.

Not so Meta. "How is he? May I go to him?" cried she.

"Not now, my dear," said Dr. May, putting his hand on her shoulder, in a gentle, detaining manner, that sent a thrill of trembling through her frame, though she did not otherwise move. She only clasped her hands together, and looked up into his face. He answered the look. "Yes, my dear, the struggle is over."

Ethel came near, and put her arm round Meta's waist, as if to strengthen her, as she stood quite passive and still.

Dr. May seemed to think it best that all should be told; but, though intently watching Meta, he directed his words to his own daughter.

"Thank Heaven, it has been shorter, and less painful, than I had dared to hope."

Meta tried to speak, but could not bring out the words, and, with an imploring look at Ethel, as if to beg her to make them clear for her, she inarticulately murmured, "Oh! why did you not call me?"

"I could not. He would not let me. His last conscious word to me was not to let you see him suffer."

Meta wrung her clasped hands together in mute anguish. Dr. May signed to Ethel to guide her back to the sofa, but the movement seemed so far to rouse her, that she said, "I should like to go to bed."

"Right--the best thing," said Dr. May; and he whispered to Ethel, "Go with her, but don't try to rouse her--don't talk to her. Come back to me, presently."

He did not even shake hands with Meta, nor wish her good-night, as she disappeared into her own room.

Bellairs undressed her, and Ethel stood watching, till the young head, under the load of sorrow, so new to it, was laid on the pillow. Bellairs asked her if she would have a light.

"No, no, thank you--the dark and alone. Good-night," said Meta. Ethel went back to the sitting-room, where her father was standing at the window, looking out into the night. He turned as she came in, folded her in his arms, and kissed her forehead. "And how is the poor little dear?"

he asked.

"The same," said Ethel. "I can't bear to leave her alone, and to have said nothing to comfort her."

"It is too soon as yet," said Dr. May--"her mind has not taken it in. I hope she will sleep all night, and have more strength to look at it when she wakens."

"She was utterly unprepared."

"I could not make her understand me," said Dr. May.

"And, oh, papa, what a pity she was not there!"