happily and did her good; but as the longed-for day drew near the excitement again nearly upset her, and Madeleine feared that Gerald would be disappointed in seeing less improvement in her health than letters might have led him to expect. In his little namesake, however, he could not be disappointed. English air had given him rosy cheeks and merry spirits, and fair and slight though he was, yet the clear bloom of health was unmistakeably upon him.

II.

The day came at last. Madeleine went into her sister's room quite early, but found her already up and dressed, and looking bright and well as she had not seen her for many a long day. The light was shining full upon her lovely head as Madeleine paused a moment at the door to watch the happy face, bending over the likeness of him who was expected to bring joy into the home that day.

"Good morning, darling, is it not a bright day for our traveller? Why, Blanche, I never saw you look so well! What won't you look like when he is here ?"

"Oh, Lina, I don't think I shall ever know what it is to feel ill again. Do you remember him quite, Maddie? His beautiful face, so gleeful and brave, and his strong active figure, and that way of his of throwing back his head when he laughs, and the curl on his forehead that he always threatens to cut off just to tease me," and throwing herself back in her rocking-chair, with a girlish abandonment, she heaved a happy sigh of earnest love.

Early in the afternoon he was to come, but Blanche could not trust herself to meet him at the station, and yet Madeleine must not see him before her, so only the page was to be sent to receive his unknown master.

Baby Gerald made his preparations by routing out all his "boofulest toys,"-old three-legged horses and broken drums, which with other like treasures, nurse found him gravely arranging on the floor of papa's dressing-room, where also he had built a great castle, with his new flag cleverly stuck in between the topmost bricks.

Blanche and Madeleine had put the finishing touches to everything, arranged the flowers to perfection, and made the pretty house fit indeed for the reception of its lord. As the longed-for hour approached Madeleine saw that her sister trembled, and her agitation and joy were

almost more than she could bear. She made her sit down beside the window, and began to chat merrily to try to calm her a little.

"He will look so brown after his not know him, Blanche !"

voyage, suppose that you should

"Know him—my own husband! You wicked Maddie. If he came back a perfect Hercules, I should know him among a thousand, if only by the music in his voice."

The last hour passed as slowly as if its minutes had all been doubled, but at length the page had started, and Blanche had taken her place in the porch, watching eagerly.

A painter might have revelled in such a subject, and naming it "Waiting for her joy," might have perpetuated her standing there, her graceful figure half in light, half in shade, leaning slightly forward in an attitude of intense listening, her small hands tightly clasped, the sheen in her hair, the light in her eyes, the smile of hope on her parted lips.

Madeleine had remained in the drawing-room purposely, watching from the window with the prattling boy,-the wife must receive her joy quite alone. But the waiting grew long,-no train was heard, and nobody came along the road.

Presently Blanche appeared at the door, and said, "Madeleine, the train must be very late,-you did not mistake when you looked at Bradshaw, did you?"

66

Oh, no, dear, but I will look again to satisfy you; you must not mind a few minutes more of your last bit of waiting," she added playfully.

"You were quite right," said Blanche, who had taken the Railway Guide from her hand, and was tracing the hour with her trembling finger, "3.30, it certainly is, and now look at the clock," and they both started as they saw that the hands pointed to four.

"Lina, can anything be wrong? O, Lina, how can I wait any longer ?"

"Darling, don't be frightened, he may be looking after all his luggage, or something else may have detained him for a few minutes,— but would you like me to go to the station and see whether the train is in ?-most likely I shall meet him on the way;" and her strong young heart would not entertain a fear.

Hastily putting on her hat she started off, promising to be back again as quickly as possible, and telling little Gerald to take care of

mamma.

Her brave smile cheered Blanche a little, but yet she could

hardly bear the suspense when Madeleine was gone.

It was an hour now after the time when the train was due, and presently Blanche started as she heard an up-train coming in quite at an unusual time. After this it was not long before two figures came down the road, hastily, yet now and then lingering. One was Madeleine-and the other ?-her heart beat even to pain,-who was he?a man, tall and strong, but not Gerald,-no, not Gerald, she was sure. Her whole frame shook so that she could not go to meet them. They were talking eagerly together, looking anxiously towards the house. O, what had they to tell her? Perhaps watching them as they came along was the best preparation she could have had for their

news.

Blanche tottered towards the door as Madeleine entered, her companion lingering in the garden,-and then in a sharp, hollow voice the poor wife cried,

"What is it? O, Madeleine, tell me where he is."

"He is not far off, my darling,-you will see him soon. Don't look so strange, my dearest,-it might be so much worse," and she made her sit down on a sofa.

"Then he is not dead,-O, Gerald,-tell me again that he is near,' the agonised voice came in sobs. "Let me go to him. Am I never to have him again? O, don't keep me away, Madeleine." “Darling, you must try to be calm; he is ill-can you bear it if I you all ?"

tell

Keep nothing back from me," Blanche broke in.

"There has been an accident down the line, and the carriage in which he was placed was quite shattered, and he was found on the bank insensible, but not killed. He cannot be moved from Deepdene, where he was carried, but the extent of the injury is not yet known."

"I shall go to him now,-come and get me ready, Lina," and she rose, white and changed, but strangely calm and self-possessed.

Then Madeleine remembered the gentleman who had remained in the garden, and she told Blanche that he was a friend of Gerald's, Mr. Grantley, and that it was he who brought the news, and Blanche went out to him and asked him to come in, thanking him in a pitiful voice that made his sympathetic eyes fill with tears.

He sat in the drawing-room and made friends with the frightened child, whilst the sisters prepared for their journey. As the time for

their start drew near, he went out and finding his way about the strange place secured a carriage to take them down to the station.

Late in the evening the sad journey was accomplished, and they arrived at the cottage where Gerald Fielding had been laid. What a different meeting was this to be, from that to which the husband and wife had looked forward. Blanche would go in first, and Madeleine trembled for her. She asked the man who met them at the door in which room he was, and then she climbed the narrow staircase, and those below heard her open the door above and go in. Presently there came a sharp cry, and a heavy fall. Madeleine rushed towards the staircase, but Mr. Grantley laid his hand on her arm and said, “You must let me go first, Miss Clifford,” and he sprang up the stairs and opened the door; Madeleine was close behind him, and they entered upon a sad scene indeed.

In one corner there was a low bed where lay a white face,—the lips uttering half-coherent sentences, and the fearful look of vacancy in the wild eyes; on the ground was the poor wife in a dead faint, a woman and a gentleman, the doctor, bending over her, she had come to meet her husband, and he did not know her. Before long they brought her to consciousness, and then she took her place by the bedside, the doctor forcing her to drink a glass of wine first.

It was a terrible night, but with morning light hope came. The patient had gone off into a quiet sleep, and as Blanche watched and waited, she suddenly received a joy that was beyond all she had dared to hope for,—Gerald opened his own tender eyes, and looked upon his wife. Then they were left to one another, and all the rest went down stairs for awhile.

It seemed strange that Hubert Grantley should be, in reality, only a new acquaintance, and yet should so have stepped into these intimate sympathies, and become one with the friends whom he had known but a few hours. The doctor had to go away to other sufferers, but Madeleine could not feel lonely or ill at ease with such kind care as that which Mr. Grantley and the cottage woman showed her. They made her eat and drink and refresh herself, and when she refused to try and rest upstairs after the long night's watching-she knew that she could not sleep-then Mr. Grantley persuaded her to go out on the common with him for a breath of fresh air.

The church clock was chiming nine as they went out and the village was all astir. Merry children were hastening to school, and men were

at work in the fields, the scent of wild roses came from the hedges, and the air was full of sweet fragrance and song.

"This is refreshing," sighed Madeleine, as they wandered along. "Yes, I cannot bear to think of the night you have had," said her companion, "but I do trust we shall bring him round now. Poor dear fellow, how he was longing to see his wife and you."

"How long have you known him? I do not remember his mentioning your name," said Madeleine.

"No, we only met on board ship, I had also given up my appointment in India, to come home to my mother." His voice faltered a little as he added: "My elder brother died lately, and I have to take to the little estate; my poor mother is all alone there now-it is on the borders of Wales:" he sighed, and then recalling himself, said: "nothing like a voyage to make friends. I think we took to each other at once. The way in which he used to pore over his old letters every day, struck me first. I knew he had a heart by that; his face used to become quite beautiful as he read them, then he was poorly for a few days, and I used to find it very jolly to sit and chat with him, and he told me all about his life, and what he was coming home to—I believe I should have known you, even if I had not heard your inquiries at the station, though you were only a bright child' when he last saw you, you must forgive my describing you in his words."

"How did you escape unhurt in the accident ?" asked Madeleine. "Well, the train was so full that we had to get our places as we could, and I ran off at the last moment to get a light, and was only just back in time to jump into a different carriage from your brother's ;—ours did not go off the line. O! Miss Clifford, I cannot imagine anything more fearful than a railway accident-but I would not even describe it to you." He diverted her thoughts by a description of his Welsh home, and drew her on to talk of her little nephew, and when their half hour's walk was over, Madeleine felt refreshed, and strong for whatever the day's work might be. The dark eyes so watchful, yet unobtrusive, and the springing step and courageous voice, formed an element of strength and hope through the anxious time that followed. It was of no use to summon Mr. and Mrs. Clifford to Deepdene, for numbers in a tiny cottage were to be avoided, and also the great thing for the patient was quietness and freedom from agitation; so daily letters took news to Lancashire of the gradual improvement in the dear invalid.

The doctor insisted upon Mrs. Fielding taking her proper rest, and