s, an unusual outburst of family tenderness. And, as was
natural also, no one seemed to think of the young wife--the stranger in
the circle. Agatha slid away from the group and disappeared.

Shortly after, she had taken her usual place in the sickroom. It had
struck her that the old man ought to be prepared for his son's coming,
so she had at once proceeded to his bedside. But it was useless--he was
sleeping. She sat down noiselessly in her old seat, and watched, as she
had done for many an hour in this long day, the smiling portrait at the
foot of the bed--her husband's mother, whom he never saw.

While she sat, footsteps entered the room. Agatha turned quickly round
to motion the intruder to silence, and perceived that it was Nathanael.

She fancied--nay, was sure--that he started when he saw her. Still, he
came forward. She rose, and would have given him her seat, but he put
his hand on her shoulder, and gently pressed her down again. The old
servant who watched near her went respectfully to the further end of the
room.

It was a solemn scene; the dim light--the total silence, broken only by
the feeble breathing of the old man, who lay passive as death, without
death's sanctity of calm. Over all, that gay youthful portrait which
the lamp-light, excluded from the bed, kindled into wonderfully vivid
life--far more like life than the sleeper below.

The young man stood mournfully watching his father, until startled by
a flash of fire-light on the canvas, his eyes wandered to the painted
smile of his unknown mother, and then turned back again to the
pillows--the same pillows where she died.. His fingers began to twitch
nervously, though his features remained still. Slowly, Agatha saw large
tears rise and roll down his cheeks. Her heart yearned over her
husband, but she dared not speak. She could but weep--not outwardly, but
inwardly, with exceeding bitter pangs.

At length the old man stirred. Agatha remembered her duty as nurse, and
hastily whispered her husband:

"I think you should move aside for a minute. Don't let him see you
suddenly--it will startle him."

"That is thoughtful of you. But who will tell him?"

"I will--he is used to me. Are you awake, father?"

Nathanael caught the word, and looked surprised.

"Dear father," she continued, soothingly, "will you not try to wake now?
Here is some one come to see you--some one you will be glad to see."

The Squire's eyes grew wild; he uttered a thick, pain