he became gradually worse; his mind remaining clear, but
extremely dejected; his bodily strength evidently sinking. Dr. F------
was again summoned in haste. That great physician was, as every great
physician should be, a profound philosopher, though with a familiar ease
of manner, and a light off-hand vein of talk, which made the
philosophy less sensible to the taste than any other ingredient in his
pharmacopoeia. Turning everybody else out of the room, he examined his
patient alone--sounded the old man's vital organs, with ear and with
stethoscope--talked to him now on his feelings, now on the news of the
day, and then stepped out to Darrell.

"Something on the heart, my dear sir; I can't get at it; perhaps you
can. Take off that something, and the springs will react, and my patient
will soon recover. All about him sound as a rock--but the heart; that
has been horribly worried; something worries it now. His heart may be
seen in his eye. Watch his eye; it is missing some face it is accustomed
to see."

Darrell changed colour. He stole back into Waife's room, and took the
old man's hand. Waife returned the pressure, and said: "I was just
praying for you--and--and--I am sinking fast. Do not let me die, sir,
without wishing poor Sophy a last good-bye!"

Darrell passed back to the landing-place where George and Lionel were
standing, while Dr. F------- was snatching a hasty refreshment in the
library before his return to town. Darrell laid his hand on Lionel's
shoulder. "Lionel, you must go back to London with Dr. F-------. I
cannot keep you here longer. I want your room."

"Sir," said Lionel, aghast, "while Waife is still so ill! You cannot be
thus unkind."

"Inconsiderate egotist! would you deprive the old man of a presence
dearer to him than yours? George, you will go too, but you will return.
You told me, yesterday, that your wife was in London for a few days;
entreat her to accompany you hither; entreat her to bring with her the
poor young lady whom my guest pines to see at his bedside--the face that
his eye misses."

CHAPTER VII.

SOPHY, DARRELL, AND THE FLUTE-PLAYER. DARRELL. PREPARES A SURPRISE
FOR WAIFE.

Sophy is come. She has crossed that inexorable threshold. She is a guest
in the house which rejects her as a daughter. She has been there some
days. Waife revived at the first sight of her tender face. He has left
his bed; can move for some hours a day into an adjoining chamber, which
has bee