ther, made more precious than all, by the conversations that ensued.

The hour for parting came at last. Ethel never knew what passed in the
drawing-room, whence every one was carefully excluded. Dr. May wandered
about, keeping guard over the door, and watching the clock, till, at the
last moment, he knocked, and called in a trembling voice, "Ernescliffe!
Alan! it is past the quarter! You must not stay!"

The other farewells were hurried; Alan seemed voiceless, only nodding in
reply to Mary's vociferous messages to Harry, and huskily whispering to
Ethel, "Good luck to Cocksmoor!"

The next moment the door had shut on him, and Dr. May and Flora had gone
to her sister, whom she found not tearful, but begging to be left alone.

When they saw her again, she was cheerful; she kept up her composure and
animation without flagging, nor did she discontinue her new exertions,
but seemed decidedly the happier for all that had passed.

Letters came every day for her, and presents to every one. Ethel had a
gold chain and eyeglass, which, it was hoped, might cure her of frowning
and stooping, though her various ways of dangling her new possession
caused her to be so much teased by Flora and Norman, that, but for
regard to Margaret's feelings, she would not have worn it for three
days.

To Mary was sent a daguerreotype of Harry, her glory and delight. Say,
who would, that it had pig's eyes, a savage frown, a pudding chin,
there were his own tight rings of hair, his gold-banded cap, his bright
buttons, how could she prize it enough? She exhibited it to the little
ones ten times a day, she kissed it night and morning, and registered
her vow always to sleep with it under her "pilow," in a letter of
thanks, which Margaret defended and despatched, in spite of Miss
Winter's horrors at its disregard of orthography.

It was nearly the last letter before the Alcestis was heard of at
Spithead. Then she sailed; she sent in her letters to Plymouth, and her
final greetings by a Falmouth cutter--poor Harry's wild scrawl in pencil
looking very sea-sick.

"Dear papa and all, good-bye. We are out of sight of land. Three years,
and keep up a good heart. I shall soon be all right.

"Your H. MAY."

It was enclosed in Mr. Ernescliffe's envelope, and with it came
tidings that Harry's brave spirit was not failing, even under untoward
circumstances, but he had struggled on deck, and tried to write,
when a