" I said. "He is all a
very dear brother could be to me."

And allegiance to him kept back every word of that infinite
superiority, which was never more shown than by the opinion of Eustace,
which his great unselfish devotion continued, without the least deceit,
to impress on most people. Lord Erymanth rejoiced, and we agreed that
it was very lucky for me that I preferred Harold, since I should have
had to yield up my possession of Eustace. The old gentleman was most
kind and genial, and much delighted that the old breach with the
Alisons should be healed, and that his niece should make a marriage
which he greatly preferred to her sister's, and together we sung the
praises of our dear Viola, where we had no difference of opinion.

Harold only came back when the carriage came round, and no sooner had
we driven off than I broke out--"Harry, I had no notion matters had
gone so far. Fancy, Lady Diana consulting her brother! It must be
very near a crisis. I can't think why you did not stay to see it."

"Because I am a fool."

The horse flew on till we were nearly out at the park-gates, and a
bewildered sense of his meaning was coming before me. "You wished it,"
said I rather foolishly.

"I did. I do. Only I don't want to see it."

"My poor dear Harold!"

"Pshaw!"--the sound was like a wild beast's, and made the horse
plunge--"I shall get over it."

Then, presently, in a more natural voice, "I must go out again in the
spring. There are things to be looked to at Boola Boola for both of
us. I shall only wait till Tracy is well enough to go with me."

"He! Dermot Tracy?"

"Yes. It will be the best way to break out of the old lines."

"I can fancy that. Oh, Harold! are you going to save him? That will
be the most blessed work of all!" I cried, for somehow a feeling like
an air of hope and joy came over me.

"I don't know about that," said he, in a smothered tone; but it was
getting dark enough to loose his tongue, and when I asked, "Was it his
illness that made him wish it?" he answered, "It was coming before.
Lucy, those horses have done worse for him than that wound in his
shoulder. They had almost eaten the very heart out of him!"

"His substance I know they have," I said; "but not his good warm heart."

"You would say so if you saw the poor wretches on his property," said
Harold. "The hovels in the Alfy Valley were palaces compared with the
cabins. Such misery I never saw. They say it is be