CHAPTER XII.

All day, within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creak'd;
The blue-fly sung i' the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd
Or from the crevice peer'd about.

Old faces glimmer' thro' the doors,
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices called her from without.

She only said, "My life is dreary."
"He cometh not," she said.
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead."

TENNYSON.

"AND I thought her cold!" Susan said to herself when she was at length at liberty to retrace her steps to the Mains; "well, I shall know better now!"

She quickened her pace, as if stung by some thought which interrupted the chain of her reflections, but they were presently resumed. "They met but three times, and he has known me all these years and he seemed to care for me. Perhaps he cares for me still, after his careless, cousinly fashion. It is well; no one knows or suspects my folly, Leonard least of all; it was never before acknowledged to myself, and it shall be blotted out at once and for ever. Yet he might have loved me if Miriam had not come between us, and she is but a child

a child in years, though, as Uncle Ralph says, there is nothing childlike in her. She may have misconstrued

his frank, courteous manner as as I have done. However, that is past; it is not so hard to forget."

And Susan walked on with a firmer step, as though it were possible to trample out the glowing embers of unrequited love at a word. She redeemed her promise to Miriam, going straight to her room to write to Leonard, and it took her some time to compose her letter, which was written in a short, trenchant style, very unlike the correspondence of former days. She briefly delivered Miriam's message, and then mentioned her illness, adding that it was likely to prove tedious, though not of a serious nature.

"Why, Susan, what have you to say to Leo?" her mother asked, when she came down with the letter in her hand. Without attaching any weight to Mr. Mordaunt's suspicions, she was sufficiently influenced by them to be unusually watchful of the intercourse between the cousins.

"Nothing on my own account," replied Susan. "It was one of Miriam's fancies that I should write and tell him of her family history, of which it seems he learned something while he was here."

"It is not likely to interest Leonard," observed Mrs. Mordaunt. "The poor child seems to be in an odd, excited state. Did you find her unmanageable?"

"She was inclined to talk too much, and I think she ought to have some older person about her to keep her in order. I could do little with her, and her last in

junctions were that no one but George must take my place."

"And Uncle Ralph is as ignorant as a baby about illness," said Mrs. Mordaunt, "and will never know how much she is mismanaged. Something must be done for the poor motherless child, and I will go and talk to Miss Alison about it. I would go to Duck Dub myself to nurse her, only John might not like me to be away, and it is hard to lose Roger's first days too."

The consultation with Ailie had precisely the result anticipated by Mrs. Mordaunt. She proposed to give her pupils a week's holiday to celebrate Roger's return, which would enable her to offer her services to Mr. Cornwall in nursing Miriam. The offer was accordingly made, and gratefully accepted, and Ailie was installed in the sickroom the very same evening.

Miriam was lying with closed eyes when she softly entered and signed to George to leave the room, and she seemed scarcely conscious that any change had been effected, but after awhile she looked anxiously round for her brother.

"He has gone down to tea, dear," said Ailie.

"It is you, Miss Alison," said Miriam slowly. "That is why I keep trying to say the Italian verbs. I begin over and over again, and I never get beyond the second conjugation."

"You must put them all away till you are well,

Miriam, and forget that I ever was your governess. Now I am only your nurse."

"But you must not send George away. I cannot do without George."

"He will come to wish you good-night, dear, and you will see him to-morrow. You do not wish to weary him."

"You think me selfish," said Miriam, "but it is not only from selfishness that I wish to have him with me. If he and Uncle Ralph are much together they may disagree, and then George will get restless, aud do something to displease him. Then perhaps he will send him away; but if he does," Miriam added resolutely, "he shall not keep me prisoner here; he shall not again divide us."

"These are idle fancies, Miriam," said Miss Alison, with a calm decision that insensibly controlled her excitement, "and unjust to your uncle. I am certain that he will do what is best for your brother, and not send him away while you are ill. But you will not soon be well if you agitate yourself in this way, and I cannot allow you to talk any more. Shall I read your evening

prayers?"

"I do not know," said Miriam, evidently recoiling from the offer.

"My dear child," said Ailie, "you are restless and unhappy; will you not cast all your care on Him who careth for you?"

"I cannot now," said Miriam.

"And why not now? If grief draw us not to Him, when shall we become His own?"

"Perhaps never," said Miriam in a stifled voice. Then, as Ailie bent tenderly over her, she yielded to a sudden impulse, clasping her arms round her, and drawing down her face until it touched her own. "You do not understand; yet come closer and I will tell you. How shall I say that prayer which is the sum of all, and which I have said for so many days and nights with hatred in my heart? And now, when I would forgive, it is too late."

"It is never too late to forgive, nor to ask forgiveness." "He is dead," said Miriam.

"There is One who ever liveth, in whose Name we say Our Father."

Then, as Miriam remained silent, Ailie knelt down and repeated the Lord's Prayer. She afterwards bent over the bed, and gave her a long and tender kiss which brought the tears into Miriam's eyes, the first tears that she had been able to shed. They relieved her aching heart, and after lying still for awhile, she fell into a soft and natural sleep, from which Ailie augured well. She remained beside the bed, occupied in tracing the lines of Miriam's face through the uncertain light, and contrasting its expression of repose and almost childlike beauty, with the deep and passionate feelings revealed in the conversation which had just taken place. Mary