of his correspondence was at last sorted. He knew most
of the writings, and the few he was doubtful about he opened--but none
were from his love. So he gave them all back to Arabella, and turned his
face from the light physically exhausted and with a storm of pain in his
heart.

Mrs. Cricklander had carefully gone through each post as it came, and
longed to destroy one or two suspicious-looking communications she saw
in the same female handwriting--from his old friend Lady Durend, if she
had known!--but she dared not, and indeed was not really much disturbed.
She had laid her own plans with too great a nicety and felt perfectly
sure of the ultimate result of their action. Arabella was each day sent
up with the subtlest messages to the poor invalid, which her honor made
her unwillingly repeat truthfully.

Cecilia Cricklander was an angel of sweet, watchful care, it seemed, and
John Derringham really felt deeply grateful to her.

Then the moment came when she decided she would see him.

"I will go this afternoon at tea-time, Arabella, if you can assure me
there won't be any horrid smell of carbolic or nasty drugs about--I know
there always are when people have cuts to be dressed, and I really could
not stand it. It would give me one of my bad attacks of nerves."

And Miss Clinker was reluctantly obliged to assure her employer that
those days were passed, and that Mr. Derringham now only looked a pale,
but very interesting invalid, as he lay there with a black silk
handkerchief tied round his head.

"Then I'll go," said Mrs. Cricklander--and, instead of sending the
message with her daily flowers, she wrote a tiny note.

I can't bear it any longer--I must come!
CECELIA.

Arabella Clinker watched his face as he read this, and saw a flush grow
in his ivory-pale skin.

"Oh! Poor Mr. Derringham!" she thought, "it isn't fair! How can he hold
out against her when he is so weak--what ought I to do? If I only knew
what is my loyal course!"

Arabella was perfectly aware how the reports of his rapid recovery had
been circulated--and guessed the reason--and all her kind woman's heart
was touched as she watched him lying there in splints, as pitiful and
helpless as a baby. To pretend that he was making a quick return to
health was so very far from the truth. She, herself, saw little change
for the better from day to day; indeed, his large, proud eyes seemed to
grow more anxious an