threw herself down on the bed in the spare room; the bed with the
heavy blue curtains. After an unheeded remonstrance, Miss Monro went to
do her bidding. But it was now late afternoon, and Mr. Johnson said that
it would be impossible for him to get permission from the sheriff that
night.

"Besides," said he, courteously, "one scarcely knows whether Miss Wilkins
may not give the old man false hopes--whether she has not been excited to
have false hopes herself; it might be a cruel kindness to let her see
him, without more legal certainty as to what his sentence, or reprieve,
is to be. By to-morrow morning, if I have properly understood her story,
which was a little confused--"

"She is so dreadfully tired, poor creature," put in Miss Monro, who never
could bear the shadow of a suspicion that Ellinor was not wisest, best,
in all relations and situations of life.

Mr. Johnson went on, with a deprecatory bow: "Well, then--it really is
the only course open to her besides--persuade her to rest for this
evening. By to-morrow morning I will have obtained the sheriff's leave,
and he will most likely have heard from London."

"Thank you! I believe that will be best."

"It is the only course," said he.

When Miss Monro returned to the bedroom, Ellinor was in a heavy feverish
slumber; so feverish and so uneasy did she appear, that, after the
hesitation of a moment or two, Miss Monro had no scruple in wakening her.

But she did not appear to understand the answer to her request; she did
not seem even to remember that she had made any request.

The journey to England, the misery, the surprises, had been too much for
her. The morrow morning came, bringing the formal free pardon for
Abraham Dixon. The sheriff's order for her admission to see the old man
lay awaiting her wish to use it; but she knew nothing of all this.

For days, nay weeks, she hovered between life and death, tended, as of
old, by Miss Monro, while good Mrs. Johnson was ever willing to assist.

One summer evening in early June she wakened into memory, Miss Monro
heard the faint piping voice, as she kept her watch by the bedside.

"Where is Dixon?" asked she.

"At the canon's house at Bromham." This was the name of Dr.
Livingstone's county parish.

"Why?"

"We thought it better to get him into country air and fresh scenes at
once."

"How is he?"

"Much better. Get strong, and he shall come to see you."

"You are sure all is right?" said Elli