played two-steps, and
rag-time music, so infectiously, that Simpson literally tripped as he
cleared the table; and Nurse Rosemary, sitting pale and preoccupied,
with a pile of letters before her, had hard work to keep her feet still.

Simpson had two-stepped to the door with the cloth, and closed it after
him. Nurse Rosemary's remarks about the post-bag, and the letters, had
remained unanswered. "Shine little glowworm glimmer" was pealing gaily
through the room, like silver bells,--when the door opened, and old
Margery appeared, in a black satin apron, and a blue print sunbonnet.
She came straight to the piano, and laid her hand gently on Garth's arm.

"Master Garthie," she said, "on this lovely May morning, will you take
old Margery up into the woods?"

Garth's hands dropped from the keys. "Of course I will, Margie," he
said. "And, I say Margie, SOMETHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN."

"I know it, laddie," said the old woman, tenderly; and the expression
with which she looked into the blind face filled Jane's eyes with
tears. "I woke with it too, Master Garthie; and now we will go into the
woods, and listen to the earth, and trees, and flowers, and they will
tell us whether it is for joy, or for sorrow. Come, my own laddie."

Garth rose, as in a dream. Even in his blindness he looked so young,
and so beautiful, that Jane's watching heart stood still.

At the window he paused. "Where is that secretary person?" he said,
vaguely. "She kept trying to shut me up."

"I know she did, laddie," said old Margery, curtseying apologetically
towards Jane. "You see she does not know the
'something-is-going-to-happen-to-day' awakening."

"Ah, doesn't she?" thought Jane, as they disappeared through the
window. "But as my Garth has gone off his dear head, and been taken
away by his nurse, the thing that is going to happen, can't happen just
yet." And Jane sat down to the piano, and very softly ran through the
accompaniment of The Rosary. Then,--after shading her eyes on the
terrace, and making sure that a tall white figure leaning on a short
dark one, had almost reached the top of the hill,--still more softly,
she sang it.

Afterwards she went for a tramp on the moors, and steadied her nerve by
the rapid swing of her walk, and the deep inbreathing of that glorious
air. Once or twice she took a telegram from her pocket, stood still and
read it; then tramped on, to the wonder of the words: "Special license
easily obtained." Ah, the lice