Emily closed the pages which told her that her father had died byhis own hand.

Cecilia still held her tenderly embraced. By slow degrees, herhead dropped until it rested on her friend's bosom. Silently shesuffered. Silently Cecilia bent forward, and kissed her forehead.The sounds that penetrated to the room were not out of harmonywith the time. From a distant house the voices of children werejust audible, singing the plaintive melody of a hymn; and, nowand then, the breeze blew the first faded leaves of autumnagainst the window. Neither of the girls knew how long theminutes followed each other uneventfully, before there was achange. Emily raised her head, and looked at Cecilia.

"I have one friend left," she said.

"Not only me, love--oh, I hope not only me!"

"Yes. Only you."

"I want to say something, Emily; but I am afraid of hurting you."

"My dear, do you remember what we once read in a book of historyat school? It told of the death of a tortured man, in the oldtime, who was broken on the wheel. He lived through it longenough to say that the agony, after the first stroke of the club,dulled his capacity for feeling pain when the next blows fell. Ifancy pain of the mind must f ollow the same rule. Nothing youcan say will hurt me now."

"I only wanted to ask, Emily, if you were engaged--at onetime--to marry Mr. Mirabel. Is it true?"

"False! He pressed me to consent to an engagement--and I said hemust not hurry me."

"What made you say that?"

"I thought of Alban Morris."

Vainly Cecilia tried to restrain herself. A cry of joy escapedher.

"Are you glad?" Emily asked. "Why?"

Cecilia made no direct reply. "May I tell you what you wanted toknow, a little while since?" she said. "You asked why Mr. Morrisleft it all to me, instead of speaking to you himself. When I putthe same question to him, he told me to read what he had written.'Not a shadow of suspicion rests on Mr. Mirabel,' he said. 'Emilyis free to marry him--and free through Me. Can _I_ tell her that?For her sake, and for mine, it must not be. All that I can do isto leave old remembrances to plead for me. If they fail, I shallknow that she will be happier with Mr. Mirabel than with me.''And you will submit?' I asked. 'Because I love her,' heanswered, 'I must submit.' Oh, how pale you are! Have Idistressed you?"

"You have done me good."

"Will you see him?"

Emily pointed to the manuscript. "At such a time as this?" shesaid.

Cecilia still held to her resolution. "Such a time as this is theright time," she answered. "It is now, when you most want to becomforted, that you ought to see him. Who can quiet your pooraching heart as _he_ can quiet it?" She impulsively snatched atthe manuscript and threw it out of sight. "I can't bear to lookat it," she said. "Emily! if I have done wrong, will you forgiveme? I saw him this morning before I came here. I was afraid ofwhat might happen--I refused to break the dreadful news to you,unless he was somewhere near us. Your good old servant knowswhere to go. Let me send her--"

Mrs. Ellmother herself opened the door, and stood doubtful on thethreshold, hysterically sobbing and laughing at the same time."I'm everything that's bad!" the good old creature burst out."I've been listening--I've been lying--I said you wanted him.Turn me out of my situation, if you like. I've got him! Here heis!"

In another moment, Emily was in his arms--and they were alone. Onhis faithful breast the blessed relief of tears came to her atlast: she burst out crying.

"Oh, Alban, can you forgive me?"

He gently raised her head, so that he could see her face.

"My love, let me look at you," he said. "I want to think again ofthe day when we parted in the garden at school. Do you rememberthe one conviction that sustained me? I told you, Emily, therewas a time of fulfillment to come in our two lives; and I havenever wholly lost the dear belief. My own darling, the time hascome!"

POSTSCRIPT.

GOSSIP IN THE STUDIO.

The winter time had arrived. Alban was clearing his palette,after a hard day's work at the cottage. The servant announcedthat tea was ready, and that Miss Ladd was waiting to see him inthe next room.

Alban ran in, and received the visitor cordially with both hands."Welcome back to England! I needn't ask if the sea-voyage hasdone you good. You are looking ten years younger than when youwent away."

Miss Ladd smiled. "I shall soon be ten years older again, if I goback to Netherwoods," she replied. "I didn't believe it at thetime; but I know better now. Our friend Doctor Allday was right,when he said that my working days were over. I must give up theschool to a younger and stronger successor, and make the best Ican in retirement of what is left of my life. You and Emily mayexpect to have me as a near neighbor. Where is Emily?"

"Far away in the North."

"In the North! You don't mean that she has gone back to Mrs.Delvin?"

"She has gone back--with Mrs. Ellmother to take care of her--atmy express request. You know what Emily is, when there is an actof mercy to be done. That unhappy man has been sinking (withintervals of partial recovery) for months past. Mrs. Delvin sentword to us that the end was near, and that the one last wish herbrother was able to express was the wish to see Emily. He hadbeen for some hours unable to speak when my wife arrived. But heknew her, and smiled faintly. He was just able to lift his hand.She took it, and waited by him, and spoke words of consolationand kindness from time to time. As the night advanced, he sankinto sleep, still holding her hand. They only knew that he hadpassed from sleep to death--passed without a movement or asigh--when his hand turned cold. Emily remained for a day at thetower to comfort poor Mrs. Delvin--and she comes home, thank God,this evening!"

"I needn't ask if you are happy?" Miss Ladd said.

"Happy? I sing, when I have my bath in the morning. If that isn'thappiness (in a man of my age) I don't know what is!"

"And how are you getting on?"

"Famously! I have turned portrait painter, since you were sentaway for your health. A portrait of Mr. Wyvil is to decorate thetown hall in the place that he represents; and our dearkind-hearted Cecilia has induced a fascinated mayor andcorporation to confide the work to my hands."

"Is there no hope yet of that sweet girl being married?" MissLadd asked. "We old maids all believe in marriage, Mr.Morris--though some of us don't own it."

"There seems to be a chance," Alban answered. "A young lord hasturned up at Monksmoor; a handsome pleasant fellow, and a risingman in politics. He happened to be in the house a few days beforeCecilia's birthday; and he asked my advice about the rightpresent to give her. I said, 'Try something new in Tarts.' Whenhe found I was in earnest, what do you think he did? Sent hissteam yacht to Rouen for some of the famous pastry! You shouldhave seen Cecilia, when the young lord offered his deliciousgift. If I could paint that smile and those eyes, I should be thegreatest artist living. I believe she will marry him. Need I sayhow rich they will be? We shall not envy them--we are rich too.Everything is comparative. The portrait of Mr. Wyvil will putthree hundred pounds in my pocket. I have earned a hundred andtwenty more by illustrations, since we have been married. And mywife's income (I like to be particular) is only five shillingsand tenpence short of two hundred a year. Moral! we are rich aswell as happy."

"Without a thought of the future?" Miss Ladd asked slyly.

"Oh, Doctor Allday has taken the future in hand! He revels in theold-fashioned jokes, which used to be addressed to newly-marriedpeople, in his time. 'My dear fellow,' he said the other day,'you may possibly be under a joyful necessity of sending for thedoctor, before we are all a year older. In that case, let it beunderstood that I am Honorary Physician to the family.' Thewarm-hearted old man talks of getting me another portrait to do.'The greatest ass in the medical profession (he informed me) hasjust been made a baronet; and his admiring friends have decidedthat he is to be painted at full length, with his bandy legshidden under a gown, and his great globular eyes staring at thespectator--I'll get you the job.' Shall I tell you what he saysof Mrs. Rook's recovery?"

Miss Ladd held up her hands in amazement. "Recovery!" sheexclaimed.

"And a most remarkable recovery too," Alban informed her. "It isthe first case on record of any person getting over such aninjury as she has received. Doctor Allday looked grave when heheard of it. 'I begin to believe in the devil,' he said; 'nobodyelse could have saved Mrs. Rook.' Other people don't take thatview. She has been celebrated in all the medical newspapers--andshe has been admitted to come excellent almshouse, to live incomfortable idleness to a green old age. The best of it is thatshe shakes her head, when her wonderful recovery is mentioned.'It seems such a pity,' she says; 'I was so fit for heaven.' Mr.Rook having got rid of his wife, is in excellent spirits. He isoccupied in looking after an imbecile old gentleman; and, when heis asked if he likes the employment, he winks mysteriously andslaps his pocket. Now, Miss Ladd, I think it's my turn to hearsome news. What have you got to tell me?"

"I believe I can match your account of Mrs. Rook," Miss Laddsaid. "Do you care to hear what has become of Francine?"

Alban, rattling on hitherto in boyish high spirits, suddenlybecame serious. "I have no doubt Miss de Sor is doing well," hesaid sternly. "She is too heartless and wicked not to prosper."

"You are getting like your old cynical self again, Mr.Morris--and you are wrong. I called this morning on the agent whohad the care of Francine, when I left England. When I mentionedher name, he showed me a telegram, sent to him by her father.'There's my authority,' he said, 'for letting her leave myhouse.' The message was short enough to be easily remembered:'Anything my daughter likes as long as she doesn't come back tous.' In those cruel terms Mr. de Sor wrote of his own child. Theagent was just as unfeeling, in his way. He called her the victimof slighted love and clever proselytizing. 'In plain words,' hesaid, 'the priest of the Catholic chapel close by has convertedher; and she is now a novice in a convent of Carmelite nuns inthe West of England. Who could have expected it? Who knows how itmay end?"

As Miss Ladd spoke, the bell rang at the cottage gate. "Here sheis!" Alban cried, leading the way into the hall. "Emily has comehome."