ials, and
work-basket were indeed placed by her side, but very seldom did the
feeble fingers engage in any of the occupations once so familiar--now
and then a pencilled note would be sent to Flora, or to Hector
Ernescliffe, or a few stitches be set in her work, or a page or two
turned of a book, but she was far more often perfectly still, living,
assuredly in no ordinary sphere of human life, but never otherwise than
cheerful, and open to the various tidings and interests which, as Ethel
had formerly said, shifted before her like scenes in a magic lantern,
and, perhaps, with less of substance than in those earlier days, when
her work among them was not yet done, and she was not, as it were, set
aside from them. They were now little more than shadows reflected from
the world whence she was passing.

Yet her home was not sad. When Dr. Spencer came in the evening, and
old Edinburgh stories were discussed, Dr. May talked with spirit, and
laughed with the merry note that Mrs. Amott so well remembered, and Meta
Rivers chimed in with her gay, saucy repartees, nor, though Richard was
always silent, and Ethel's brow seemed to bear a weight of thought, did
it seem as if their spirits were depressed; while there was certainly no
restraint on the glee of Blanche, Aubrey, and Gertrude, who were running
into Margaret's room, and making as much noise there as they chose.

Mrs. Arnott was at home with the whole family from the first, and in
every one's confidence; but what she enjoyed above all was, the
sitting in Margaret's room in the morning, when there was no danger
of interruption, the three children being all safe captives to their
lessons, and Meta, in Richard's workshop, illuminating texts on zinc
scrolls for the church.

Margaret came out more in these interviews. It had been a kind of
shyness that made her talk so exclusively of the church at the first
meeting; she had now felt her way, and knew again--and realised--the
same kind aunt with whom she had parted in her childhood, and now far
dearer, since she herself was better able to appreciate her, and with
a certain resemblance to her mother, that was unspeakably precious and
soothing to one deprived, as Margaret had been, at the commencement of
her illness and anxiety.

She could hardly see her aunt come near her, without thanking her for
having come home, and saying how every time she awoke it was with the
sense that something was comfortable, then remembering it was A