oes she sob so, Mr Halifax? Papa will be better tomorrow, I am
sure."

"I HOPE so," he answered, dwelling on the word; "we should always hope
to the very last."

"The last?" with a quick, startled glance.

"And then we can only trust."

Something more than the MERE words struck her. She examined him
closely for a minute.

"You mean--yes--I understand what you mean. But you are mistaken. The
doctor would have told me--if--if--" she shivered, and left the
sentence unfinished.

"Dr. Brown was afraid--we were all afraid," broke in Mrs. Tod, sobbing.
"Only Mr. Halifax, he said--"

Miss March turned abruptly to John. That woeful gaze of hers could be
answered by no words. I believe he took her hand, but I cannot tell.
One thing I can tell, for she said it to me herself afterwards, that he
seemed to look down upon her like a strong, pitiful, comforting angel;
a messenger sent by God.

Then she broke away, and flew up-stairs. John came in again to me, and
sat down. He did not speak for many minutes.

After an interval--I know not how long--we heard Mrs. Tod calling
loudly for "Mr. Halifax." We both ran through the empty kitchen to the
foot of the stairs that led to Mr. March's room.

Mr. March's room! Alas, he owned nothing now on this fleeting,
perishable earth of ours. He had gone from it: the spirit stealing
quietly away in sleep. He belonged now to the world everlasting.

Peace be to him! whatever his life had been, he was HER father.

Mrs. Tod sat half-way down the stair-case, holding Ursula March across
her knees. The poor creature was insensible, or nearly so. She--we
learnt--had been composed under the terrible discovery made when she
returned to his room; and when all restorative means failed, the fact
of death became certain, she had herself closed her father's eyes, and
kissed him, then tried to walk from the room--but at the third step she
dropped quietly down.

There she lay; physical weakness conquering the strong heart: she lay,
overcome at last. There was no more to bear. Had there been, I think
she would have been able to have borne it still.

John took her in his arms; I know not if he took her, or Mrs. Tod gave
her to him--but there she was. He carried her across the kitchen into
our own little parlour, and laid her down on my sofa.

"Shut the door, Phineas. Mrs. Tod, keep everybody out. She is waking
now."

She did, indeed, open her eyes, with a long sigh, but closed t