be sorry for it presently--this does
seem such a poor reward for all you have done.'

'Nay,' said Nicholas gently, 'what better reward could I have, than
the knowledge that his last days were peaceful and happy, and the
recollection that I was his constant companion, and was not prevented,
as I might have been by a hundred circumstances, from being beside him?'

'To be sure,' sobbed Miss La Creevy; 'it's very true, and I'm an
ungrateful, impious, wicked little fool, I know.'

With that, the good soul fell to crying afresh, and, endeavouring to
recover herself, tried to laugh. The laugh and the cry, meeting each
other thus abruptly, had a struggle for the mastery; the result was,
that it was a drawn battle, and Miss La Creevy went into hysterics.

Waiting until they were all tolerably quiet and composed again,
Nicholas, who stood in need of some rest after his long journey, retired
to his own room, and throwing himself, dressed as he was, upon the bed,
fell into a sound sleep. When he awoke, he found Kate sitting by his
bedside, who, seeing that he had opened his eyes, stooped down to kiss
him.

'I came to tell you how glad I am to see you home again.'

'But I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, Kate.'

'We have been wearying so for your return,' said Kate, 'mama and I,
and--and Madeline.'

'You said in your last letter that she was quite well,' said Nicholas,
rather hastily, and colouring as he spoke. 'Has nothing been said, since
I have been away, about any future arrangements that the brothers have
in contemplation for her?'

'Oh, not a word,' replied Kate. 'I can't think of parting from her
without sorrow; and surely, Nicholas, YOU don't wish it!'

Nicholas coloured again, and, sitting down beside his sister on a little
couch near the window, said:

'No, Kate, no, I do not. I might strive to disguise my real feelings
from anybody but you; but I will tell you that--briefly and plainly,
Kate--that I love her.'

Kate's eyes brightened, and she was going to make some reply, when
Nicholas laid his hand upon her arm, and went on:

'Nobody must know this but you. She, last of all.'

'Dear Nicholas!'

'Last of all; never, though never is a long day. Sometimes, I try to
think that the time may come when I may honestly tell her this; but it
is so far off; in such distant perspective, so many years must elapse
before it comes, and when it does come (if ever) I shall be so
unlike what I am now, and shall