ll, instead of lying by, here. My mother
was angry with me for telling her that, but didn't she get well all one
way after it? And look at the poor! They have their illnesses that bring
'em down to skeletons; but when did you ever find them lie by, after
they got better? They can't; they are obliged to go out and turn to at
work again; and the consequence is they are well in no time. You have
your fowl to-day," continued Jan, taking himself off the table to
depart; "or a duck, if you fancy it's more savoury; and if West comes in
while you are eating it, tell him I ordered it. He can't grumble at me
for doctoring _you_."

Decima left the room with Jan. Lucy Tempest went to the window, threw it
open, drew an easy-chair, with its cushions, near to it, and then
returned to the sofa.

"Will you come to the window?" said she to Lionel. "Jan said you were to
sit there, and I have put your chair ready."

Lionel unclosed his eyelids. "I am better here, child, thank you."

"But you heard what Jan said--that you were not going the right way to
get well."

"It does not much matter, Lucy, whether I get well, or whether I don't,"
he answered wearily.

Lucy sat down; not on her favourite stool, but on a low chair, and fixed
her eyes upon him gravely.

"Do you know what Mr. Cust would say to that?" she asked. "He would tell
you that you were ungrateful to God. You are already half-way towards
getting well."

"I know I am, Lucy. But I am nearly tired of life."

"It is only the very old who say that, or ought to say it. I am not sure
that they _ought_--even if they were a hundred. But you are young. Stay!
I will find it for you."

He was searching about for his handkerchief. Lucy found it, fallen on
the floor at the back of the sofa. She brought it round to him, and he
gently laid hold of her hand as he took it.

[Illustration: "He gently laid hold of her hand."]

"My little friend, you have yet to learn that _things_, not years, tire
us of life."

Lucy shook her head.

"No; I have not to learn it. I know it must be so. Will you _please_ to
come to the window?"

Lionel, partly because his tormentor (may the word be used? he was sick,
bodily and mentally, and would have lain still for ever) was a young
lady, partly to avoid the trouble of persisting in "No," rose, and took
his seat in the arm-chair.

"What an obstinate nurse you would make, Lucy! Is there anything else,
pray, that you wish me to do?"

She did not s