d disposed summarily of his works.

There was an absolute silence of some seconds after this scandalous
explosion; and Devereux said--'In truth, Sir, I don't know. They hold
him capable of taking charge of my wise cousin--hang him!--so I dare say
he can take care of himself; and I don't see what the plague ill's to
happen him.'

The doctor's honest eyes opened, and his face flushed a little. But
reading makes a full man, not a quick one; and so while he was
fashioning his answer, the iron cooled. Indeed he never spoke in anger.
When on sudden provocation he carried his head higher and flushed a
little, they supposed he was angry; but if he was, this was all he
showed of the old Adam, and he held his peace.

So now the doctor looked down upon the table-cloth, for Devereux's
breakfast china and silver were still upon the table, and he marshalled
some crumbs he found there, sadly, with his finger, in a row first, and
then in a circle, and then, goodness knows how; and he sighed profoundly
over his work.

Devereux was in his mood. He was proud--he had no notion of apologising.
But looking another way, and with his head rather high, he hoped Miss
Lilias was better.

Well, well, the spring was coming; and Parson Walsingham knew the spring
restored little Lily. 'She's like a bird--she's like a flower, and the
winter is nearly past,' (and the beautiful words of the 'Song of Songs,'
which little Lily so loved to read, mingled like a reverie in his
discourse, and he said), 'the flowers will soon appear in the earth,
the time of the singing birds will come, and the voice of the turtle be
heard in our land.'

'Sir,' said Dick Devereux, in a voice that sounded strangely, 'I have a
request; may I make it?--a favour to beg. 'Tisn't, all things
remembered, very much. If I write a letter, and place it open in your
hand--a letter, Sir--to Miss Lily--will you read it to her, or else let
her read it? Or even a message--a spoken message--will you give it?'

'Captain Devereux,' said the doctor, in a reserved but very sad sort of
way, 'I must tell you that my dear child is by no means well. She has
had a cold, and it has not gone away so soon as usual--something I think
of her dear mother's delicacy--and so she requires care, my little Lily,
a great deal of care. But, thank God, the spring is before us. Yes, yes;
the soft air and sunshine, and then she'll be out again. You know the
garden, and her visits, and her little walks. So I do