my dear, dear hero. Oh, what shall I do when day after
day passes, and only takes you farther and farther away from me? No! I
won't cry. You shan't go away with a heavy heart, my dear one, if I can
help it. Where is your photograph? You promised me your photograph. Let
me look at it. Yes! it's like you, and yet not like you. It will do to
think over, when I am alone. My love, it has copied your eyes, but it
has not copied the divine kindness and goodness that I see in them!"
She paused, and laid her head on his bosom. "I shall cry, in spite of my
resolution, if I look at you any longer. We won't look--we won't talk--I
can feel your arm round me--I can hear your heart. Silence is best.
I have been told of people dying happily; and I never understood it
before. I think I could die happily now." She put her hand over his lips
before he could reprove her, and nestled closer to him. "Hush!" she said
softly; "hush!"

They neither moved nor spoke: that silent happiness was the best
happiness, while it lasted. Mrs. Gallilee broke the charm. She suddenly
opened the door, pointed to the clock, and went away again.

The cruel time had come. They made their last promises; shared their
last kisses; held each other in the last embrace. She threw herself
on the sofa, as he left her--with a gesture which entreated him to go,
while she could still control herself. Once, he looked round, when he
reached the door--and then it was over.

Alone on the landing, he dashed the tears away from his eyes. Suffering
and sorrow tried hard to get the better of his manhood: they had shaken,
but had not conquered him. He was calm, when he joined the members of
the family, waiting in the library.

Perpetually setting an example, Mrs. Gallilee ascended her domestic
pedestal as usual. She favoured her son with one more kiss, and reminded
him of the railway. "We understand each other, Ovid--you have only
five minutes to spare. Write, when you get to Quebec. Now, Maria! say
good-bye."

Maria presented herself to her brother with a grace which did honour to
the family dancing-master. Her short farewell speech was a model of its
kind.

"Dear Ovid, I am only a child; but I feel truly anxious for the recovery
of your health. At this favourable season you may look forward to a
pleasant voyage. Please accept my best wishes." She offered her cheek
to be kissed--and looked like a young person who had done her duty, and
knew it.

Mr. Gallilee--modestly sec