to hear that divine music of the heart, so long as she was not
bound to reply and remonstrate--being insensible.

But now she speaks, faintly, but clearly, "Don't he frightened. I
promise not to die. Pray don't cry so." Then she put out her hand
to him, and turned her head away, and cried herself, gently, but
plenteously.

Henry, kneeling by her, clasped the hand she lent him with both his, and
drew it to his panting heart in ecstasy.

Grace's cheeks were rosy red.

They remained so a little while in silence.

Henry's heart was too full of beatitude to speak. He drew her a little
nearer to the glowing fires, to revive her quite; but still kneeled by
her, and clasped her hand to his heart. She felt it beat, and turned her
blushing brow away, but made no resistance: she was too weak.

"Halloo!" cried a new voice, that jarred with the whole scene; and Mr.
Coventry hobbled in sight. He gazed in utter amazement on the picture
before him.

CHAPTER XII.

Grace snatched her hand from Henry, and raised herself with a vigor that
contrasted with her late weakness. "Oh, it is Mr. Coventry. How wicked
of me to forget him for a moment. Thank Heaven you are alive. Where have
you been?"

"I fell into the mountain stream, and it rolled me down, nearly to here.
I think I must have fainted on the bank. I found myself lying covered
with snow; it was your beloved voice that recalled me to life."

Henry turned yellow, and rose to his feet.

Grace observed him, and replied, "Oh, Mr. Coventry, this is too
high-flown. Let us both return thanks to the Almighty, who has preserved
us, and, in the next place, to Mr. Little: we should both be dead but
for him." Then, before he could reply, she turned to Little, and said,
beseechingly, "Mr. Coventry has been the companion of my danger."

"Oh, I'll do the best I can for him," said Henry, doggedly. "Draw nearer
the fire, sir." He then put some coal on the forge, and blew up an
amazing fire: he also gave the hand-bellows to Mr. Coventry, and set him
to blow at the small grates in the mausoleum. He then produced a pair of
woolen stockings. "Now, Miss Carden," said he, "just step into that pew,
if you please, and make a dressing-room of it."

She demurred, faintly, but he insisted, and put her into the great pew,
and shut her in.

"And now, please take off your shoes and stockings, and hand them over
the pew to me."

"Oh, Mr. Little: you are giving yourself so much trouble."