wondered how he would look and what he
would say when next she saw him; and she longed to see him again, and
yet felt frightened at the thought of doing so. At prayers that morning
Miss Farringdon read the lament of David over Saul and Jonathan; and
while the words of undying pathos sounded in her ears, Elisabeth
wondered whether Christopher would mourn as David did if his uncle were
to die, and whether he would let her comfort him.

When prayers were over, Miss Farringdon bade Elisabeth accompany her to
Mr. Smallwood's; and all the way there the girl's heart was beating so
fast that it almost choked her, with mingled fear of and tenderness for
this new Christopher who had taken the place of her old playmate. As
they sat waiting for him in the oak-panelled dining-room, a fresh wave
of pity swept over Elisabeth as she realized for the first time--though
she had sat there over and over again--what a cheerless home this was in
which to spend one's childhood and youth, and how pluckily Christopher
had always made the best of things, and had never confessed--even to
her--what a dreary lot was his. Then he came downstairs; and as she
heard his familiar footstep crossing the hall her heart beat faster than
ever, and there was a mist before her eyes; but when he entered the room
and shook hands, first with Miss Farringdon and then with her, she was
quite surprised to see that he looked very much as he always looked,
only his face was pale and his eyes heavy for want of sleep; and his
smile was as kind as ever as it lighted upon her.

"It is very good of you to come to me so quickly," he said, addressing
Miss Farringdon but looking at Elisabeth.

"Not at all, Christopher," replied Miss Maria; "those who have friends
must show themselves friendly, and your uncle has certainly proved
himself of the sort that sticketh closer than a brother. No son could
have done more for my father--no brother could have done more for
me--than he has done; and therefore his affliction is my affliction, and
his loss is my loss."

"You are very kind." And Christopher's voice shook a little.

Elisabeth did not speak. She was struggling with a feeling of
uncontrollable shyness which completely tied her usually fluent tongue.

"Is he very ill?" Miss Farringdon asked.

"Yes," Christopher replied, "I'm afraid it's a bad job altogether. The
doctor thinks he will last only a few days; but if he lives he will
never regain the use of his speech or of h