er?" said Rachel, sitting down, unable to stand longer.

"Yes, his throat is better. Miss Williams's firmness saved him. They
think him quite out of danger."

"Thank Heaven! Oh, I could never have seen his mother again! Oh, she has
been the heroine!"

"In the truest sense of the word," he answered. And Rachel looked up
with one moment's brightening at the old allusion, but her oppression
was too great for cheerfulness, and she answered--

"Dear Fanny, yes, she will be a rebuke to me for ever! But," she added,
before he had time to inquire for her health, "I wanted--I wanted to beg
you to do me a service. You were so kind the other night."

His reply was to lean earnestly forward, awaiting her words, and she
told him briefly of her grievous perplexity about the title-deeds.

"Then," he said, "you would wish for me to see the man and ascertain how
he has disposed of them."

"I should be most grateful!"

"I will do my utmost. Perhaps I may not succeed immediately, as I
believe visitors are not admitted every day, and he is said to be busy
preparing his defence, but I will try, and let you know."

"Thanks, thanks! The doubt is terrible, for I know worry about it would
distract my mother."

"I do not imagine," he said, "that much worse consequences than worry
could ensue. But there are none more trying."

"Oh not none!"

"Do not let worry about this increase other ills," he said, kindly, "do
not think about this again till you hear from me."

"Is that possible?"

"I should not have thought so, if I had not watched my uncle cast off
troubles about his eye-sight and the keeping his living."

"Ah! but those were not of his own making."

"'There is a sparkle even in the darkest water.' That was a saying of
his," said Alick, looking anxiously at her pale cheek and down-cast eye.

"Not when they are turbid."

"They will clear," he said, and smiled with a look of encouraging hope
that again cheered her in spite of herself. "Meantime remember that in
any way I can help you, it will be the greatest favour--" he checked
himself as he observed the exceeding languor and lassitude apparent in
her whole person, and only said, "My sister is too much at the bottom of
it for me not to feel it the greatest kindness to me to let me try to
be of the slightest use. I believe I had better go now," as he rose and
looked at her wistfully; "you are too much tired to talk."

"I believe I am," she said, almost reluctantly, "but