e two young people, who were leaning with looks
and feelings so different over his bed, the patient lay struggling
with those terrible bonds of weakness, labouring to find expression
for something which wrought him into a fever of excitement. While Mr
Wentworth bent his ear closer and closer, trying to make some sense of
the inarticulate torrent of sound, Lucy, inspired by grief and horror
and indignation, leaned over her father on the other side, doing
everything possible to calm him. "Oh, papa, don't say any more--don't
say any more; we understand you," she cried, and put her soft hands
upon his flushed forehead, and her cheek to his. "No more, no more!"
cried the girl in the dulled ear which could not hear. "We will do
everything you wish--we understand all," said Lucy. Mr Wentworth
withdrew vanquished in that strange struggle--he stood looking on
while she caressed and calmed and subdued into silence the dying
passion which he would have given anything in the world to stimulate
into clearer utterance. She had baffled his efforts, made him helpless
to serve her, perhaps injured herself cruelly; but all the more the
Curate loved her for it, as she expanded over her dying father, with
the white sleeves hanging loose about her arms like the white wings of
an angel, as he thought. Gradually the agony of utterance got subdued,
and then Lucy resumed her position by the bed. "He shall not be
disturbed," she said again, through lips that were parched with
emotion; and so sat watchful over him, a guardian immovable, ready to
defy all the world in defence of his peace.

Mr Wentworth turned away with his heart full. He would have liked to
go and kiss her hand or her sleeve or anything belonging to her; and
yet he was impatient beyond expression, and felt that she had baffled
and vanquished him. Miss Wodehouse stood behind, still looking on with
a half perception of what had happened; but the mind of the elder
sister was occupied with vain hopes and fears, such as inexperienced
people are subject to in the presence of death.

"He heard what you said," said Miss Wodehouse; "don't you think that
was a good sign? Oh, Mr Wentworth, sometimes I think he looks a little
better," said the poor lady, looking wistfully into the Curate's face.
Mr Wentworth could only shake his head as he hurried away.

"I must go and consult Mr Waters," he said, as he passed her. "I shall
come back presently;" and then Miss Wodehouse followed him to the