devil through thy goodness after
all. I'm worth nothing, but there's my wife! Pray, pray, Lord God, let
me one day see my wife again!--For Christ's sake--ain't that the way,
Grant?--Amen."

Donal had dropped on his knees once more when the earl began to pray.
He uttered a hearty Amen. The earl turned sharply towards him, and saw
he was weeping. He put out his hand to him, and said,

"You'll stand my friend, Grant?"

CHAPTER LXXX.

AWAY-FARING.

Suddenly what strength lady Arctura had, gave way, and she began to
sink. But it was spring with the summer at hand; they hoped she would
recover sufficiently to be removed to a fitter climate. She did not
herself think so. She had hardly a doubt that her time was come. She
was calm, often cheerful, but her spirits were variable. Donal's heart
was sorer than he had thought it could be again.

One day, having been reading a little to her, he sat looking at her. He
did not know how sad was the expression of his countenance. She looked
up, smiled, and said,

"You think I am unhappy!--you could not look at me like that if you did
not think so! I am only tired; I am not unhappy. I hardly know now what
unhappiness is! If ever I look as if I were unhappy, it is only that I
am waiting for more life. It is on the way; I feel it is, because I am
so content with everything; I would have nothing other than it is. It
is very hard for God that his children will not trust him to do with
them what he pleases! I am sure, Mr. Grant, the world is all wrong, and
on the way to be all wondrously right. It will cost God much labour
yet: we will cost him as little as we can--won't we?--Oh, Mr. Grant, if
it hadn't been for you, God would have been far away still! For a God I
should have had something half an idol, half a commonplace tyrant! I
should never have dreamed of the glory of God!"

"No, my lady!" returned Donal; "if God had not sent me, he would have
sent somebody else; you were ready!"

"I am very glad he sent you! I should never have loved any other so
much!"

Donal's eyes filled with tears. He was simple as a child. No male
vanity, no self-exultation that a woman should love him, and tell him
she loved him, sprang up in his heart. He knew she loved him; he loved
her; all was so natural it could not be otherwise: he never presumed to
imagine her once thinking of him as he had thought of Ginevra. He was
her servant, willing and loving as any angel of God: that was all--and
e