ook at me. Thank you. And is the cloud broken?"

"I fear nothing."

"Is your mind restored to its own natural sunny clime?"

"I am very content; but I want your promise."

"Dictate."

"You know, in case the worst I _have_ feared should happen, they will
smother me. You need not smile. They will; they always do. My uncle will
be full of horror, weakness, precipitation; and that is the only
expedient which will suggest itself to him. Nobody in the house will be
self-possessed but you. Now promise to befriend me--to keep Mr. Sympson
away from me, not to let Henry come near, lest I should hurt him.
Mind--_mind_ that you take care of yourself too. But I shall not injure
you; I know I shall not. Lock the chamber door against the surgeons;
turn them out if they get in. Let neither the young nor the old MacTurk
lay a finger on me; nor Mr. Greaves, their colleague; and lastly, if I
give trouble, with your own hand administer to me a strong
narcotic--such a sure dose of laudanum as shall leave no mistake.
_Promise to do this._"

Moore left his desk, and permitted himself the recreation of one or two
turns through the room. Stopping behind Shirley's chair, he bent over
her, and said, in a low, emphatic voice, "I promise all you ask--without
comment, without reservation."

"If female help is needed, call in my housekeeper, Mrs. Gill. Let her
lay me out if I die. She is attached to me. She wronged me again and
again, and again and again I forgave her. She now loves me, and would
not defraud me of a pin. Confidence has made her honest; forbearance has
made her kind-hearted. At this day I can trust both her integrity, her
courage, and her affection. Call her; but keep my good aunt and my timid
cousins away. Once more, promise."

"I promise."

"That is good in you," she said, looking up at him as he bent over her,
and smiling.

"Is it good? Does it comfort?"

"Very much."

"I will be with you--I and Mrs. Gill only--in any, in every extremity
where calm and fidelity are needed. No rash or coward hand shall
meddle."

"Yet you think me childish?"

"I do."

"Ah! you despise me."

"Do we despise children?"

"In fact, I am neither so strong, nor have I such pride in my strength,
as people think, Mr. Moore; nor am I so regardless of sympathy. But when
I have any grief, I fear to impart it to those I love, lest it should
pain them; and to those whom I view with indifference I cannot
condescend to complain. After all, y