ery appearance of carelessness.

Next morning, with infinite difficulty, she persuaded the poor jaundiced
lady to show her Aberystwith. She took the tickets herself, and got her
patient half-way to Hillsborough; next day, with less difficulty, to
Raby Hall. All had been settled before. Edith little was shown into her
old bedroom, adorned with pyramids of flowers in her honor; and there
she found a loving line from Guy, begging her pardon for his past
harshness, and telling her she was to send for him as soon as she felt
strong enough to meet.

That evening brother and sister were clasped in each other's arms, and
wept tears of affection and regret over each other.

Jael Dence slept on a camp-bed in Mrs. Little's room, which was very
spacious, and watched her, and was always about her. Under private
advice from Dr. Amboyne, she superintended her patient's diet, and, by
soft, indomitable perseverance, compelled her to walk every day, and
fight against her fatal lassitude.

Heaven rewarded her by giving her a warm and tender affection for her
poor patient that did something to fill her own yearning and desolate
heart.

Here I must leave them both for the present, and show how these events
affected the main characters of my story.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Just outside the little sea-side town of Eastbank is a house which,
being very old, contrasts agreeably with the pretentious villas fashion
has raised. It is gloomy inside, yet outside it looks like a cottage:
low, rambling, gabled, and picturesque. It stands on a slope just above
the sea, and its front garden runs down almost to the sea-shore. The
aspect is southerly. The placid sea looks like a beautiful lake; for,
about two miles out, a great tongue of land runs across and keeps the
tempests out.

The cottage itself was now closed deep with green creepers, and its
veranda with jessamine; and the low white walls of the garden were
beautiful with vine-leaves and huge fig-leaves, that ran up them and
about them, and waved over them in tropical luxuriance. In short, the
house was a very bower, and looked the abode of bliss; and this time
last year a young couple had spent their honeymoon there, and left it
with a sigh. But one place sees many minds; and now this sweet place was
the bed on which dropped the broken lily of this tale, Grace Carden.

She lay in the warm air of the veranda, and turned her hollow eyes upon
the sea; and every day life crept slowly back