to her young body, but not
to her desolate heart.

A brain fever either kills or blunts, and Grace's agony was blunted. Her
mind was in a strange state. She was beginning to look two things in the
face: that the man she loved was dead; that the man she loved, and had
nearly died for, had loved another as well as herself: and this last
grief, strange to say, was the saving of her. She forgave him with all
her heart, for he was dead; she made excuses for him, for she loved
him; but since his whole heart had not been hers, her pride and modesty
rebelled against dying for him, and she resolved to live; she fought
hard to live and get well. Finally, being a very woman, though a noble
one, she hated Jael Dence.

She was not alone in the world. Her danger, her illness, and her misery
had shown her the treasure of a father's love. He had found this sweet
bower for her; and here he sat for hours by her side, and his hand
in hers, gazing on her with touching anxiety and affection. Business
compelled him to run into Hillsborough now and then, but he dispatched
it with feverish haste, and came back to her: it drove him to London;
but he telegraphed to her twice a day, and was miserable till he got
back. She saw the man of business turned into a man of love for her, and
she felt it. "Ah, papa," she said one day, "I little thought you loved
your poor Grace so much. You don't love any other child but me, do you,
papa?" and with this question she clung weeping round his neck.

"My darling child, there's nothing on earth I love but you. When shall I
see you smile again?"

"In a few hours, years. God knows."

One evening--he had been in Hillsborough that day--he said, "My dear,
I have seen an old friend of yours to-day, Mr. Coventry. He asked very
kindly after you."

Grace made no reply.

"He is almost as pale as you are. He has been very ill, he tells me.
And, really, I believe it was your illness upset him."

"Poor Mr. Coventry!" said Grace, but with a leaden air of indifference.

"I hope I didn't do wrong, but when he asked after you so anxiously, I
said, 'Come, and see for yourself.' Oh, you need not look frightened; he
is not coming. He says you are offended with him."

"Not I. What is Mr. Coventry to me?"

"Well, he thinks so. He says he was betrayed into speaking ill to you
of some one who, he thought, was living; and now that weighs upon his
conscience."

"I can't understand that. I am miserable, but let me try