d on the other
shore.'

One morning, old Sally, who, in her quiet way, used to tell all the
little village news she heard, thinking to make her young mistress
smile, or at least listen, said--

'And that wild young gentleman, Captain Devereux, is growing godly, they
say; Mrs. Irons tells me how he calls for his Bible o' nights, and how
he does not play cards, nor eat suppers at the Phoenix, nor keep bad
company, nor go into Dublin, but goes to church; and she says she does
not know what to make of him.'

Little Lily did not speak or raise her head; she went on stirring the
little locket, that lay on the table, with the tip of her finger,
looking on it silently. She did not seem to mind old Sally's talk,
almost to hear it, but when it ended, she waited, still silent, as a
child, when the music is over, listens for more.

When she came down she placed her chair near the window, that she might
see the snowdrops and the crocuses.

'The spring, at last, Sally, my darling, and I feel so much better;' and
Lily smiled on the flowers through the windows, and I fancy the flowers
opened in that beautiful light.

And she said, every now and then, that she felt 'so much better--so much
stronger,' and made old Sally sit by her, and talk to her, and smiled so
happily, and there again were all her droll engaging little ways. And
when the good rector came in, that evening, she welcomed him in the old
pleasant way: though she could not run out, as in other times, when she
heard his foot on the steps, to meet him at the door, and there was such
a beautiful colour in her clear, thin cheeks, and she sang his favourite
little song for him, just one verse, with the clear, rich voice he loved
so well, and then tired. The voice remained in his ears long after, and
often came again, and that little song, in lonely reveries, while he sat
listening, in long silence, and twilight, a swan's song.

'You see, your little Lily is growing quite well again. I feel so much
better.'

There was such a childish sunshine in her smile, his trembling heart
believed it.

'Oh! little Lily, my darling!' he stopped--he was crying, and yet
delighted. Smiling all the time, and crying, and through it a little
laugh, as if he had waked from a dream of having lost her, and found her
there--his treasure--safe. 'If anything happened to little Lily, I think
the poor old man'--and the sentence was not finished; and, after a
little pause, he said, quite cheerily-