w me WHEN--IF I
return, my dearest,' he said. 'If not, then still, thank God! Philip, to
you I trust them!'

And with one kiss on that still, cold, almost petrified brow, he had
dashed away. There was a space of absolutely motionless silence, save
that Eustacie let herself drop on the chancel step, and the child,
presently breaking the spell, pulled her to attract her notice to the
flowers. 'Mother, here are the _soucis_ for the poor gentleman's broth.
See, the naughty people had spoilt all the paths, and I rolled down and
tore my frock, and down fell the beads, but be not angry, mother dear,
for the good gentleman picked them up, and carried me up the bank.'

'The bank!' cried Eustacie, with a scream, as the sense of the words
reached her ears. 'Ah! no wonder! Well might thy danger bring thy
father's spirit;' and she grasped the little one fervently in her arms,
murmuring, 'Thank, thank God, indeed! Oh! my precious one; and did He
send that blessed spirit to rescue thee?'

'And will you tie up my frock? and may I put the flowers into the
broth?' chattered Rayonette. 'And why did he kiss me and hug me so
tight? and how did he know what you say over me as we fall asleep?'

Eustacie clasped her tighter, with a convulsive, shudder of
thankfulness; and Philip, but half hearing, and barely gathering the
meaning of her mood, ventured to speak, 'Madame---'

As if touched by an electric shock, Eustacie started up, as recalled to
instant needs, and coming towards him said, 'Do you want anything, sir?
Pardon one who has but newly seen a spirit from the other world--brought
by his child's danger.' And the dazed, trance-like look was returning.

'Spirit!' cried Philip. 'Nay, Madame, it was himself. Ah! and you are
she whom we have sought so long; and this dear child--no wonder she has
Dolly's face.'

'Who--what?' said Eustacie, pressing her temples with her hands, as if
to retain her senses. 'Speak; was yonder a living or dead man--and who?'

'Living, thank God! and your own husband; that is, if you are really
Eustacie. Are you indeed?' he added, becoming doubtful.

'Eustacie, that am I,' she murmured. 'But he is dead--they killed him; I
swathe blood where he had waited for me. His child's danger brought him
from the grave.'

'No, no. Look at me, sister Eustacie. Listen to me. Osbert brought him
home more dead than alive--but alive still.'

'No!' she cried, half passionately. 'Never could he have lived and left
me to m