ial.
He advances--joins them--congratulates Waife on his first walk as a
convalescent. He quotes Gray's well-known verses applicable to that
event, and when, in that voice sweet as the flute itself, he comes to
the lines: ["See the wretch who long has tost," &c.--GRAY.]

"The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening paradise"

Sophy, as if suddenly struck with remorse at the thought that she,
and she alone, was marring that opening paradise to the old man in his
escape from the sick-room to "the sun, the air, the skies," abruptly
raised her looks from the ground, and turned them full upon her
guardian's face, with an attempt at gladness in her quivering smile,
which, whatever its effect on Waife, went straight to the innermost
heart of Guy Darrell. On the instant he recognised, as by intuitive
sympathy, the anguish from which that smile struggled forth--knew that
Sophy had now learned that grief which lay deep within himself--that
grief which makes a sick chamber of the whole external world, and which
greets no more, in the common boons of Nature, the opening Paradise of
recovered Hope! His eye lingered on her face as its smile waned, and
perceived that CHANGE which had so startled Waife. Involuntarily he
moved to her side--involuntarily drew her arm within his own--she thus
supporting the one who cherished--supported by the one who disowned her.
Guy Darrell might be stern in resolves which afflicted others, as he was
stern in afflicting himself; but for others he had at least compassion.

Poor Waife, with nature so different, marked Darrell's movement, and,
ever ready to seize on comfort, said inly: "He relents. I will not go
to-morrow as I had intended. Sophy must win her way; who can resist
her?"

Talk languished--the wintry sun began to slope--the air grew keen--Waife
was led in--the Morleys went up into his room to keep him company--Sophy
escaped back to her own. Darrell continued his walk, plunging deep into
his maze of beechwoods, followed by the doe. The swans dip their necks
amongst the water-weeds; the flute has ceased, and drearily still is the
grey horizon, seen through the skeleton boughs--seen behind the ragged
sky-line of shaft and parapet in the skeleton palace.

Darrell does not visit Waife's room that day; he concludes that Waife
and Sophy would wish to be much alone; he dreads renewal of the only
subject on which he has no cheering word to say. Sophy's smile, Sophy's