said Julius. "It seems to me that
you can only act as seems right at the moment. When he is his own
man again, you will better have the power of judging about this vow,
and if it ought to bind you. And so, it may really be well you do
not see more of him, and that his weakness does not lead you further
than you mean."

A tottering step, and an almost agonized, though very short sob
under the crape veil, proved to Julius that his counsel, though
chiming in with her stronger, sterner judgment, was terrible to her,
nor would he have given it, if he had not had reason to fear that
while she had grown up, Frank had grown down; and that, after this
illness, it would have to be proved whether he were indeed worthy of
the high-minded girl whom he had himself almost thrown over in a
passion.

But there was no room for such misgivings when the electric shock of
actual presence was felt--the thin hollow-cheeked face shone with
welcome, the liquid brown eyes smiled with thankful sweetness, the
fingers, fleshless, but cool and gentle, were held out; and the
faint voice said, "My darling! Once try to make me hear."

And when, with all her efforts, she could only make him give a sort
of smile of disappointment, she would have been stonyhearted indeed
if she had not let him fondle her hand as he would, while she
listened to his mother's report of his improvement. With those eyes
fixed in such content on her face, it seemed absolutely barbarous to
falter forth that she could come no more, for her father was taking
her away.

"My dear, you must be left with us," cried Mrs. Poynsett. "He
cannot spare you."

"Ah! but my poor father. He is lost without me. And I came of age
on Tuesday, and there are papers to sign."

"What is it?" murmured Frank, watching their faces.

Mrs. Poynsett gave her the pen, saying, "You must tell him, if it is
to be."

She wrote: "My father takes me to London to-morrow, to meet the
lawyers."

His face fell; but he asked, "Coming back--when?"

She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears, as she wrote:
"Sirenwood is to be put up to auction."

"Your sister?" began Frank, and then his eye fell on her crape
trimmings. He touched her sleeve, and made a low wail. "Oh! is
every one dead?"

It was the first perception he had shown of any death, though
mourning had been worn in his room. His mother leant down to kiss
him, bidding Lena tell him the truth; and she wrote:

"I am left alo