that Agony--and that He knows what it is--'

'Do we not pray for you?' said Dr. May, fervently, 'in church and at
home? and is not this an answer? Am I to take this drawing, Leonard,
that speaks so much?'

'If--if you think Miss May--would let me send it to her? Thank you, it
will be very kind of her. And please tell her, if it had not been for
that time at Coombe, I don't know how I could ever have felt the ground
under my feet. If I have one wish that never can be--'

'What wish, my dear, dear boy? Don't be afraid to say. Is it to see
her?'

'It was,' said Leonard, 'but I did not mean to say it. I know it
cannot be.'

'But, Leonard, she has said that if you wished it, she would come as if
you were lying on your bed at home, and with more reverence.'

Large tears of gratitude were swelling in Leonard's eyes, and he
pressed the Doctor's hand, but still said, almost inarticulately,
'Ought she?'

'I will bring her, my boy. It will do her good to see how--how her
pupil, as they have always called you in joke, Leonard, can be willing
to bear the Cross after his Master. She has never let go for a moment
the trust that it was well with you.'

'Oh! Dr. May, it was the one thing--and when I had gone against all her
wishes. It is so good of her! It is the one thing--' and there was no
doubt from his face that he was indeed happy.

And Dr. May went home that day softened and almost cheered, well-nigh
as though he had had a promise of Leonard's life, and convinced that in
the region to which the spirits of Ethel and her pupil could mount,
resignation would silence the wailings of grief and sorrow; the things
invisible were more than a remedy for the things visible.

That Ethel should see Leonard before the last, he was quite resolved;
and Ethel, finding that so it was, left the _when_ in his hands,
knowing the concession to be so great, that it must be met by grateful
patience on her own side, treasuring the drawing meanwhile with
feelings beyond speech. Dr. May did not wish the meeting to take place
till he was really sure that all hope was at an end; he knew it would
be a strong measure, and though he did not greatly care for the world
in general, he did not want to offend Flora unnecessarily; in matters
of propriety she was a little bit of a conscience to him, and though he
would brave her or any one else when a thing was right, especially if
it were to give one last moment of joy to Leonard, she was no