? I know something is the matter."

"Do tell her," whispered the maid, "She'll find it out anyhow--she finds
out everything. And she has been so ill all day."

Agatha entered. There was no deceiving those eyes.

"Elizabeth, dear Elizabeth--your father--it is very hard, but--your
father"--She hesitated; it was so difficult to convey, even in gentlest
words, the cruel truth. Miss Harper regarded her keenly. The bearer
of ill-tidings is always soon betrayed, and Agatha's was not a face to
disguise anything. Elizabeth's head dropped back on the pillow.

"I perceive. He is an old man. He has gone home before me. My dear
father!"

The perfect composure with which she said this astonished Agatha. She
did not understand how near Elizabeth always lived to the unknown world,
and how welcome and beautiful it was in her familiar sight.

"No; he is alive still. But, if he should not come in to see you
to-morrow-morning"--

"I shall go unto him; he shall not return unto me," murmured Elizabeth,
as her eyelids fell, and a few tears dropped through the lashes. "Tell
me the rest, will you?"

"He has been seized with paralysis, I think; he cannot speak or move,
but seems still conscious. I do not know how it will end."

"One way--only one way; I feared this long. My grandfather died so.
Agatha"--calling after her, for she was stealing away, she could not
bear it--"Agatha, you will take care of him?"

"I will as his own daughter."

"And, if possible"--here Elizabeth's voice faltered a little--"give my
love to my dear father."

Agatha fled away. She hid herself in the recess close by "Anne's
window," as it was called, and for a minute or two cried violently.
It did her good. With those tears all the selfishness, anger, and pain
flowed out of her heart, leaving it purer and more peaceful than it had
been for a long time. It was not a foolish, miserable girl, but a brave,
tenderhearted, sensible woman, who entered the door of the sick-chamber
where the poor old man lay.

No one was there but the coachman who had carried his master up-stairs.
Many servants hovered about the door, but none dared enter. Either
they were afraid of the Squire--afraid even now, or else the motionless
figure that lay within the bed-curtains was too like death. Old John sat
beside it, with tears running down his cheeks.

"Oh, Mrs. Harper, look at th' Master. He be all alive in's mind. He do
want bad to speak to we. Look at 'un, Missus!"

"Give me