And Arthur awoke from this troubled dreaming, mercifully by degrees, for the languor of great weakness hung protectingly over his mind, softening and making easier his return to actual trouble. Had any one just then besought him to seek comfort from the Man of Sorrow, he would have considered it as cruel and useless advice. No one made such a proposition. Alice only brought him arrowroot, and now and then a glass of lime-juice and sugar and water.

She was English, however, so genuinely English, that she could not follow the fashion so prevalent there, of putting away altogether the dried leaf of China. She was old-fashioned enough to think it a pleasant restorative, and the very first evening that Arthur was able, supported by pillows, to rise a little in his bed, the small black tea-pot was shining on the little table by his side, and sending up a narrow line of smoke which looked purely white in contrast with the blue muslin curtains. Gently and skilfully his kind nurse pushed these aside, so as just to admit from the verandah the softened evening view,-the sloping woodland stretching out to the sea.

And Arthur lay there in weakness, quite unable to take into his heart the full depth of his sorrow. It was soothing to watch the silent advances of evening, how the low lands were steeped in the grey light, and the forest stretching out to the sea, whilst the mountain-tops yet glistened in gold and crimson.

Alice must have been looking out too, and, in her simple way, meditating on the same things,-for all

at once her murmured song became distinct, with

these words :

"And have we not felt, when our freed spirits rose, Leaving earth and its vapours below,

As if we had triumphed o'er life and its woes,

So lovely, so bright was the glow

Of the beautiful hope, that in fulness was given,
To the heart's earnest pleading of prayer:

We stood, like those mountains, in rich hues from heaven,
While life was still misty with care!"

"These lines are singularly to the purpose, Alice," said Arthur; "where did you learn them?"

"My mistress, sir, taught me many such when I was nurse-maid in her family at Nottingham, and some of them come back into my mind when I look at the mountains or at the sea. At evening, too, sir, my happy recollections come out like stars."

Arthur was too languid for much consideration, but he lay there just wondering what education did for a really gifted mind,-perhaps what the polisher does for the gem, revealing it to the world,-gives it language and power to express that which it could not otherwise communicate.

At times, too, there was a grace of manner about Alice, which kept its bright place by the very side of the most ungrammatical expressions.

It did not then occur to Arthur to think of the great Refiner, who does not always use this world's wealth and influence to make clear and lovely the character, otherwise he would have been able to solve the problem without difficulty.

"You do not know much about the mists of the valley, Alice," he said; and then, again, he was busy watching, so busy, that he did not hear the gentle sigh which rose from the bosom of his nurse. Thousands of the wild iris were clustering together, where the gentle rising ground protected them from the north wind, bowing their heads as if in gratitude for those gifts of crystal, the silent dews, -and then many flowers which had been closed during the day unfolded, and, by sweetest fragrance, in their turn enriched the night, which came on without darkness, so brightly was it illuminated by stars.

Then Alice seated herself at the low window steps, with one knee slightly raised, around which both her hands were clasped. Her attitude certainly was not graceful, and being towards the end of the week, her homely gown was somewhat soiled; yet, in spite of all this, there was a gentle, cheerful courtesy about her, as if from the effect of some hidden light within.

She looked upon the stars, and unconsciously began to sing, but as she perceived Arthur listening, she found some difficulty in continuing the strain; so the tones died away into a whisper, and she gently repeated the following lines:

It is not so-the Christian's night
In darkness hath no part;

His sorrow owns a mild starlight—
God's peace within his heart."

"Admirable!" exclaimed Arthur, who was quite tasteful enough to appreciate Alice's application of these lines; "but it has scarcely ever been night with you."

This time his observation pressed so on some hidden fountain of recollections in her quiet heart, that tears fell from her eyes.

Arthur had exerted himself that night, and was almost too weak to apologise for so unintentionally wounding her feelings.

Twilight deepened, and he fell asleep, and Alice, finding that the gate of memory's land had been widely opened, just walked in. This was only spirit-motion, for she kept her place stationary at the window-step, looking out on night, but with her inner sight resting on scenes of tenderness she was never more to see in this world. The chimes of long-silent voices, too, seemed to fall tenderly on her heart, and she was very far from actual life, when she heard her husband gently calling to her from the next room. Alice struggled against these fits of dreaming, and it was only occasionally that they stole upon her. Hastily she put on her bonnet, saying earnestly to herself as she did so, "My kindness shall not depart from thee;" and this was enough-the accustomed calm settled down

again on her heart, and it seemed, from the pleasant expression on her face, as if One greater than man had whispered to her, and said, "I will not leave you comfortless; I will come to you."

CHAPTER XXXV.

ALICE'S STORY.

ARTHUR found himself possessed of a strangely selfish feeling the next day. He recollected Alice's tears, and almost hoped she might have known something of sorrow. It would be, he thought, a sort of companionship to him in that strange place. He could not remain in the dark about her, and yet he had so much gentle courtesy, that he set very delicately to work in his undertaking of discovery. He was scarcely aware of the finesse he employed. His very first act was that of skilful generalship, for he told her just enough of his own troubles to draw out her confidence through the medium of sympathy.

"It is very sad, Mr Howard," she said, "very sad indeed; I don't know how you can get any comfort, but by remembering it is a Father who chastens." "You mean," said Arthur, with just the slightest touch of bitterness in his tone, "that if the powers of darkness had the battle-field all to themselves, it would make matters worse still?"