She lay back in an easy-chair, in the little room that was once Mr. North\'s parlour. The window was thrown open to the sweet flowers, the balmy air; and Ellen Adair drank in their beauty and perfume.

She took to this room as her own sitting-room the day she came back to the Hall. She had always liked it. Sir William had caused the shabby old carpet and chairs and tables to be replaced by fresh bright furniture. How willingly, had it been possible, would he have kept her in life!

Just for a few days had hope lasted--no more. The change had come suddenly, and was unmistakable. She wore a white gown, tied round the waist with a pink girdle, and a little bow of pink ribbon--her favourite colour--at the neck. She wished to look well yet; her toilet was attended to, her bright hair was arranged carefully as ever. But the maid did all that. The wan face was very sweet still, the soft brown eyes had all their old lustre. Very listless was the worn white hand lying on her lap; loosely sat the plain gold ring on it--the ring that, through all the toil and trouble, had never been taken off. Ellen was alone. Sir William had gone by appointment to see over Richard North\'s works.

A sound as of steps on the gravel. Her father could not have come back yet! A moment\'s listening, and then the hectic flushed to her face; for she knew the step too well. Captain Bohun had returned!

Captain Bohun had gone to London to see Sir Nash off on his projected Continental journey to the springs that were to make him young again. Sir Nash had expected Arthur to accompany him, but he now acknowledged that Ellen\'s claims were paramount to his. Ellen had thought he might have been back again yesterday.

He came in at the glass-doors, knowing he should probably find her in the room. But his joyous smile died away when he saw her face. His step halted: his hand dropped at his side.

"Ellen!"

In timid, wailing tones was the word spoken. Only three days\' absence, and she had faded like this! Was it a relapse?--or what had she been doing to cause the change?

For a few minutes, perhaps neither of them was sufficiently collected to know what passed. In his abandonment, he knelt by the chair, holding her hands, his eyes dropping tears. The remorse ever gnawing at his heart was very cruel just then. Ellen bent towards him, and whispered that he must be calm--must bear like a man: things were only drawing a little nearer.

"I should have been down yesterday, but I waited in town to make sundry purchases and preparations," he said. "Ellen, I thought that--perhaps--next month--your father would have given you over to me."

"Did you?" she faintly answered.

"You must be mine," he continued, in too deep emotion to weigh his words. "If you were to die first, I--I think it would kill me."

"Look at me," was all she answered. "See whether it is possible."

"There\'s no knowing. It might restore you. Fresh scenes, the warm pure climate that I would take you to--we would find one somewhere--might do wonders. I pointed this out to Sir William in the winter."

"But I have not been well enough for it, Arthur."

"Ellen, it must be! Why, you know that you were almost my wife. Half-an-hour later, and you would have been."

She released one of her hands, and put it up to her face.

Captain Bohun grew more earnest in his pleading; he was really thinking this thing might be.

"I shall d............