e water, Minette, darling,' said Rowland, supporting Netta.

'This is what mamma takes,' said the child, bringing Rowland a small
bottle labelled 'Prussic acid' from the bedroom.

'I cannot give her this. Is there no wine?'

'The little girl went to an old chiffonier and brought a decanter with
wine in it. Rowland poured some down Netta's throat, and she recovered.

'Rowland, is it you? Not--not--' muttered Netta, as she strove to rise.
'I think you had better go. Perhaps, when he comes, he won't like--oh,
my heart.'

'Be calm, dear Netta; I will do nothing you dislike. If Howel comes back
I will go away directly. I will be most careful of what I say. You need
not fear me, Netta,--your brother who loves you so dearly'

'You won't go away again, uncle, will you?' said the pale, little
Minette, climbing on Rowland's knee and nestling her head in his bosom;
'or will you take mamma and me away from this nasty place?'

'No, dear, Uncle Rowland will not leave you, he is so very glad to find
you.'

Tears, actual tears, filled Rowland's eyes as he kissed the brow of the
child, who was soon fast asleep in his arms, and as he held Netta's thin
hand and looked at her bewildered face.

'Did you say you loved me, Rowland?' asked Netta, looking at him with a
strange, wandering glance, whilst large tears rolled down her cheeks. 'I
don't think I deserve any one's love, do I? Is mother vexed that I have
been away so long?'

'Yes, dear, and you must come home at once. You must come to me first to
get strong, and then--'

'Hush! hush! No, I cannot leave this house,--I will not; never, never
till Howel comes or sends for me. Isn't that some one on the stairs?'

'I will see, dear.'

'No, not you,--not you.'

'It is some one gone to the next floor. Lie still, dear Netta.'

'It is nice having you, Rowland; but if he should come--'

'I would go away. You are ill, Netta. Tell me what is the matter with
you.'

Rowland was feeling Netta's pulse, and found that they were too rapid to
be counted, whilst he could literally hear the pulsation of her heart.

'I don't know; something at my heart. And--and--my head, just here,--at
the top. It is so burning, like fire.'

'We must nurse you, Netta. If you would only come to my lodgings.'

'Hush! hush! not for the world. I will stay here till--I am sure that is
a step.'

'No dear. Try to be calm and sleep for half-an-hour, whilst I go and
make some arrangements.'

'Do you think