exhausted."

"Doctor," whispered Martin, seizing the young man by the arm, "can
nothing save her? I have money, and can command _anything_ that may do
her good."

The doctor shook his head. "You may give her a little wine. It will
strengthen her for a time, but I fear there is no hope. I will send in
a bottle if you wish it."

Martin gave him the requisite sum, and in a few minutes the wine was
brought up by a boy.

The effect of the wine was wonderful. Aunt Dorothy's eyes sparkled as
they used to do in days of old, and she spoke with unwonted energy.

"You are kind to me, young man," she said, looking earnestly into
Martin's face, which, however, he kept carefully in shadow. "May our
Lord reward you."

"Would you like me to talk to you of your nephew?" said Martin; "I have
seen him abroad."

"Seen my boy! Is he not dead?"

"No; he is alive, and in this country, too."

Aunt Dorothy turned pale, but did not reply for a few minutes, during
which she grasped his hand convulsively.

"Turn your face to the light," she said faintly.

Martin obeyed, and bending over her whispered, "He is here; I am Martin,
my dear, dear aunt--"

No expression of surprise escaped from Aunt Dorothy as she folded her
arms round his neck, and pressed his head upon her bosom. His hot tears
fell upon her neck while she held him, but she spoke not. It was
evident that, as the strength infused by the wine abated, her faculties
became confused. At length she whispered,--"It is good of you to come
to see me, darling boy. You have often come to me in my dreams. But do
not leave me so soon; stay a very little longer."

"This is no dream, dearest aunt," whispered Martin, while his tears
flowed faster; "I am really here."

"So you always say, my darling child; but you always go away and leave
me. This is a dream, no doubt like all the rest; but oh, it seems very
very real! You never _wept_ before, although you often smiled. Surely
this is the best and brightest dream I ever had!"

Continuing to murmur his name while she clasped him tightly to her
bosom, Aunt Dorothy gently fell asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

CONCLUSION.

Aunt Dorothy Grumbit did _not_ die! Her gentle spirit had nearly fled;
but Martin's return and Martin's tender nursing brought her round, and
she gradually regained all her former strength and vigour. Yes, to the
unutterable joy of Martin, to the inexpressible delight of Mr Arthur
Jollyboy and