forward till
she was safely placed upon the sofa, and then gathering breath, she
sought him with her eager eyes, shining, large, lustrous, and wistful,
as they looked out of the white thin face, where the once glowing
colour had dwindled to two burning carnation spots. It was so piteous
a change that as he took her hand he was silent, from sheer inability
to speak calmly.

'You have come to tell me,' she said. 'I am afraid I could not thank
you last night.' How different that soft pleading languid voice from
the old half defiant tone!

'I did not know you had been so unwell,' he forced himself to say, 'or
I would not have come so suddenly.'

'I am grown so silly' she said, trying to smile. 'I hardly even
understood last night;' and the voice died away in the intense desire
to hear.

'I--I was coming on business, and I thought you would not turn from the
good tidings, though I was the bearer,' he said, in a broken, agitated,
apologetic way.

'Only let me hear it again,' she said. 'Did you say he was free?'

'Yes, free as you are, or I. At home. My father was gone to fetch
him.'

She put her hands over her face, and looked up with the sweetest smile
he had ever seen, and whispered, 'Now I can sing my Nunc dimittis.'

He could not at once speak; and before he had done more than make one
deprecatory gesture, she asked, 'You have seen him?'

'Not since this--not since September.'

'I know. You have been very good; and he is at home--ah! not home--but
Dr. May's. Was he well? Was he very glad?'

'I have not seen him; I have not heard; you will hear soon. I came at
once with the tidings.'

'Thank you;' and she clasped her hands together. 'Have you seen Henry?
does he know?'

'Could I? Had not you the first right?'

'Leonard! Oh, dear Leonard!' She lay back for a few moments, panting
under the gust of exceeding joy; while he was silent, and tried not to
seem to observe her with his anxious eyes. Then she recovered a little
and said, 'The truth come out! Did you say so? What was the truth?'

'He paused a moment, afraid of the shock, and remembering that the
suspicion had been all unknown to her. She recalled probabilities, and
said,

'Was it from a confession? Is it known who--who was the real unhappy
person?'

'Yes. Had you no suspicion?'

'No--none,' said Averil, shuddering, 'unless it was some robber. Who
was it?'

'You had never thought of the other nephew?'

'You don't mean S