‘Do smile; smile again. Shall I tell you what I should like?’

‘Tell me anything—only keep talking. I am Saul; but for music I should perish.’

‘I should like you to be brought to the Rectory, and given to me and mamma.’

‘A precious gift! I have not laughed since they shot me till now.’

‘Do you suffer pain, Robert?’

‘Not so much pain now; but I am hopelessly weak, and the state of my mind is inexpressible—dark, barren, impotent. Do you not read it all in my face? I look a mere ghost.’

‘Altered, yet I should have known you anywhere. But I understand your feelings; I experienced something like it. Since we met, I, too, have been very ill.’

‘Very ill?’

‘I thought I should die. The tale of my life seemed told. Every night just at midnight, I used to wake from awful dreams—and the book lay open before me at the last page, where was written “Finis.” I had strange feelings.’

‘You speak my experience.’

‘I believed I should never see you again; and I grew so thin—as thin as you are now. I could do nothing for myself—neither rise nor lie down; and I could not eat—yet, you see, I am better.’

‘Comforter! sad as sweet. I am too feeble to say what I feel; but, while you speak, I do feel.’

‘Here I am at your side, where I thought never more to be; here I speak to you—I see you listen to me willingly—look at me kindly. Did I count on that? I despaired.’

Moore sighed—a sigh so deep, it was nearly a groan; he covered his eyes with his hand.

‘May I be spared to make some atonement!’

Such was his prayer.

‘And for what?’

‘We will not touch on it now, Cary; unmanned as I am, I have not the power to cope with such a topic. Was Mrs. Pryor with you during your illness?’

‘Yes’ (Caroline smiled brightly)—‘you know she is mamma?’

‘I have heard; Hortense told me; but that tale, too, I will receive from yourself. Does she add to your happiness?’

‘What! mamma? She is dear to me; how dear I cannot say. I was altogether weary, and she held me up.’

‘I deserve to hear that in a moment when I can scarce lift my hand to my head. I deserve it.’

‘It is no reproach against you.’

‘It is a coal of fire heaped on my head; and so is every word you address to me, and every look that lights your sweet face. Come still nearer, Lina; and give me your hand—if my thin fingers do not scare you.’