orgive,
for that I know is not what you want; but well do you know how freely
forgiven and forgotten is all that you may ever feel to have been
against my wish. God bless you, my own dear Frederick!" she added,
pressing her hand upon his head. "His choicest blessings be with you
forever."

Uncle Geoffrey's knock was heard; Frederick hastily rose to his feet,
was folded in one more long embrace, then, without another word,
suffered his uncle to lead him out of the room, and support him back to
his own. He stretched himself on the sofa, turned his face inwards,
and gave two or three long gasping sighs, as if completely overpowered,
though his uncle could scarcely determine whether by grief or by
physical exhaustion.

Henrietta looked frightened, but her uncle made her a sign to say
nothing: and after watching him anxiously for some minutes, during which
he remained perfectly still, her uncle left the room, and she sat down
to watch for him, taking up a book, for she dreaded the reveries in
which she had once been so prone to indulge. Fred remained for a long
time tranquil, if not asleep; and when at length he was disturbed,
complained that his head ached, and seemed chiefly anxious to be left in
quiet. It might be that, in addition to his great weariness, he felt
a charm upon him which he could not bear to break. At any rate, he
scarcely looked up or spoke all the rest of the evening, excepting that,
when he went to bed, he sent a message that he hoped Uncle Geoffrey
would come to his room the next morning before setting off, as he was
obliged to do at a very early hour.

He came, and found Fred awake, looking white and heavy-eyed, as if he
had slept little, and allowing that his head still ached.

"Uncle Geoffrey," said he, raising himself on his elbow, and looking at
him earnestly, "would it be of no use to have further advice?"

His uncle understood him, and answered, "I hope that Dr. ---- will come
this evening or to-morrow morning. But," added he, slowly and kindly,
"you must not build your hopes upon that, Fred. It is more from the
feeling that nothing should be untried, than from the expectation that
he can be of use."

"Then there is no hope?" said Fred, with a strange quietness.

"Man can do nothing," answered his uncle. "You know how the case stands;
the complaint cannot be reached, and there is scarcely a probability of
its becoming inactive. It may be an affair of days or weeks, or she may
yet rally,