rning that
he was a great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so.

How many times the golden water danced upon the wall; how many nights
the dark, dark river rolled towards the sea in spite of him; Paul never
counted, never sought to know. If their kindness, or his sense of it,
could have increased, they were more kind, and he more grateful every
day; but whether they were many days or few, appeared of little moment
now, to the gentle boy.

One night he had been thinking of his mother, and her picture in the
drawing-room downstairs, and thought she must have loved sweet Florence
better than his father did, to have held her in her arms when she felt
that she was dying--for even he, her brother, who had such dear love
for her, could have no greater wish than that. The train of thought
suggested to him to inquire if he had ever seen his mother? for he could
not remember whether they had told him, yes or no, the river running
very fast, and confusing his mind.

'Floy, did I ever see Mama?'

'No, darling, why?'

'Did I ever see any kind face, like Mama's, looking at me when I was a
baby, Floy?'

He asked, incredulously, as if he had some vision of a face before him.

'Oh yes, dear!'

'Whose, Floy?'

'Your old nurse's. Often.'

'And where is my old nurse?' said Paul. 'Is she dead too? Floy, are we
all dead, except you?'

There was a hurry in the room, for an instant--longer, perhaps; but it
seemed no more--then all was still again; and Florence, with her face
quite colourless, but smiling, held his head upon her arm. Her arm
trembled very much.

'Show me that old nurse, Floy, if you please!'

'She is not here, darling. She shall come to-morrow.'

'Thank you, Floy!'

Paul closed his eyes with those words, and fell asleep. When he awoke,
the sun was high, and the broad day was clear and He lay a little,
looking at the windows, which were open, and the curtains rustling in
the air, and waving to and fro: then he said, 'Floy, is it tomorrow? Is
she come?'

Someone seemed to go in quest of her. Perhaps it was Susan. Paul thought
he heard her telling him when he had closed his eyes again, that she
would soon be back; but he did not open them to see. She kept her
word--perhaps she had never been away--but the next thing that happened
was a noise of footsteps on the stairs, and then Paul woke--woke mind
and body--and sat upright in his bed. He saw them now about him. There
was no grey mist before