is face; though, leaving it, the features trembled
with emotion. Olive was alarmed.

"You must not talk now--not one word. Remember how very ill you have
been. I will sit by you here. Oh, what can I ever do or say in gratitude
for all you have done for me?"

"Gratitude!" Harold echoed the word, as if with pain, and then lay
still, looking up at her no more. Gradually there came a change over
his countenance, as if some bitter thought were slowly softening into
calmness. "Olive," he said, "you speak of gratitude, then what must
be mine to you? In those long hours when I lay conscious, but silent,
knowing that there might be but a breath between me and eternity, how
should I have felt had I not learnt from you that holy faith which
conquers death?"

"Thank God! thank God! But you are weak, and must not speak."

"I must, for I am stronger now; I draw strength from your very
presence--you, who have been my life's good angel. Let me tell you so
while I can."

"While you can!"

"Yes; for I sometimes think that, though I am thus far better, I shall
never be quite myself again; but slowly, perhaps without suffering, pass
away from this world."

"Oh, no!--oh, no!" And Olive clasped his hand tighter, looking up with
a terrified air. "You cannot--shall not die! I--I could not bear it"
And then her face was dyed with a crimson blush--soon washed away by a
torrent of tears.

Harold turned feebly round, and laid his right hand on her head. "Little
Olive! To think that you should weep thus, and I should be so calm!" He
waited awhile, until her emotion had ceased. Then he said, "Lift up your
face; let me look at you. Nay, tremble not, for I am going to speak very
solemnly;--of things that I might never have uttered, save for such an
hour as this. You will listen, my own dear friend, my sister, as you
said you would be?"

"Yes--yes, always!"

"Ah! Olive, you thought not that you were more to me than any
friend--any sister--that I loved you--not calmly, brotherly--but with
all the strength and passion of my heart, as a man loves the woman he
would choose out of all the world to be his wife."

These words trembled on lips white as though they had been the lips of
death. Olive heard; but she only pressed his hand without speaking.

Harold went on. "I tell you this, because now, when I feel so changed
that all earthly things grow dim, I am not too proud to say I love
you. Once I was. You stole into my heart before I was awar