he worst,'
said Amy, smiling with recovered playfulness, the most re-assuring of
all.

'What flower was it?'

'A piece of purple saxifrage. I thought there was no danger, for it did
not seem steep at first.'

'No, it was not your fault. You had better not move just yet; sit still
a little while.'

'O Guy, where are you going?'

'Only for your sketching tools and my stick. I shall not be gone an
instant. Sit still and recover.'

In a few seconds he came back with her basket, and in it a few of the
flowers.

'Oh, I am sorry,' she said, coming to meet him; 'I wish I had told you I
did not care for them. Why did you?'

'I did not put myself in any peril about them. I had my trusty staff,
you know.'

'I am glad I did not guess what you were doing. I thought it so
impossible, that I did not think of begging you not. I shall keep them
always. It is a good thing for us to be put in mind how frail all our
joy is.'

'All?' asked Guy, scarcely as if replying to her, while, though his arm
pressed hers, his eye was on the blue sky, as he answered himself, 'Your
joy no man taketh from you.'

Amabel was much impressed, as she thought what it would have been
for him if his little wife bad been snatched from him so suddenly and
frightfully. His return--his meeting her mother--his desolate home and
solitary life. She could almost have wept for him. Yet, at the moment of
relief from the fear of such misery, he could thus speak. He could look
onward to the joy beyond, even while his cheek was still blanched with
the horror and anguish of the apprehension; and how great they had
been was shown by the broken words he uttered in his sleep, for several
nights afterwards, while by day he was always watching and cautioning
her. Assuredly his dependence on the joy that could not be lost did not
make her doubt his tenderness; it only made her feel how far behind him
she was, for would it have been the same with her, had the danger been
his?

In a couple of days they arrived at the beautiful Lugano, and, as usual,
their first walk was to the post-office, but disappointment awaited
them. There had been some letters addressed to the name of Morville,
but the Signor Inglese had left orders that such should be forwarded to
Como. Amabel, in her best Italian, strove hard to explain the difference
between the captain and Sir Guy, the Cavaliere Guido, as she translated
him, who stood by looking much amused by the perplexities of his lady'