hen
he came in late to wish her good-night, after he had been attending on
Sir Matthew's examination of his father's arm. He did nothing but admire
the surgeon's delicacy of touch and understanding of the case, his view
agreeing much better with Dr. May's own than that with Mr. Ward's.
Dr. May had never been entirely satisfied with the present mode of
treatment, and Richard was much struck by hearing him say, in answer to
Sir Matthew, that he knew his recovery might have been more speedy and
less painful if he had been able to attend to it at first, or to afford
time for being longer laid up. A change of treatment was now to be made,
likely soon to relieve the pain, to be less tedious and troublesome,
and to bring about a complete cure in three or four months at latest.
In hearing such tidings, there could be little thought of the person
who brought them, and Margaret did not, till the last moment, learn that
Richard thought Sir Matthew very clever and sensible, and certain to
understand her case. Her last visitor was her father: "Asleep, Margaret?
I thought I had better go to Norman first in case he should be awake."

"Was he?"

"Yes, but his pulse is better to-night. He was lying awake to hear what
Fleet thought of me. I suppose Richard told you?"

"Yes, dear papa; what a comfort it is!"

"Those fellows in London do keep up to the mark! But I would not be
there for something. I never saw a man so altered. However, if he can
only do for you as well--but it is of no use talking about it. I may
trust you to keep yourself calm, my dear?"

"I am trying--indeed I am, dear papa. If you could help being anxious
for me--though I know it is worse for you, for I only have to lie still,
and you have to settle for me. But I have been thinking how well off I
am, able to enjoy so much, and be employed all day long. It is nothing
to compare with that poor girl you told me of, and you need not be
unhappy for me. I have some verses to say over to myself to-night:

"O Lord my God, do Thou Thy holy will,
I will lie still,
I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm
And break the charm
That lulls me, clinging to my Father's breast
In perfect rest.

"Is not that comfortable?"

"My child--my dear child--I will say no more, lest I should break your
sweet peace with my impatience. I will strive for the same temper, my
Margaret. Bless you, dearest, good-night.