'my dear,' said mr. brimble, 'our being so late is entirely mr. jobson's fault. he has been telling us such astonishing things that all we have heard before from him has vanished into what char calls, "blue distance." eh, char?' he continued, putting his arm fondly round her; 'wouldn't you have enjoyed being in my waistcoat pocket? miss cruden,' he added, addressing that lady, 'your brother has been almost as bad as jobson, and i shall turn him over to you for correction.'

mrs. brimble looked stately, so far as her peevishness would allow her; mora was half asleep over some embroidery—miss cruden, rather more than half, and hardly awoke to reply.

'valary is very ill,' said the squire, advancing to his wife, 'and we are going in a body to see him to-morrow morning, first thing.'

'what do you mean by going in a body?'

'why, i mean eu and i and the doctor.'

'i?' exclaimed mrs. brimble.

'you—no,' said the squire, recollecting himself, 'jobson i meant.'

'a strange mistake!' said the lady superciliously. 'you said, "you and i and the doctor."'

'now, mary,' said the squire in a whisper, 'just look at him, as he is standing between the two girls; isn't he a fine, handsome fellow? did you ever see any one like him?'

'dear me, mr. brimble! i never saw any one like him but saunders, our last footman, and he had just the same kind of nose. i see nothing particular in him; and i think it very forward of him to talk to the girls when there is miss cruden by.'

the squire laughed; he was afraid of going further; but mrs. brimble had not finished. 'indeed, mr. brimble, your indiscretion is beyond everything. here is a perfect stranger, who, because he happens to be agreeable to you, and is able to talk, is made quite at home among us, and we are expected to treat him like a friend. if you have no regard for your daughters, i have; it surprises me, after all the cautions i have given you, and the number of things i have saved you from, that you will not learn prudence.'

'my dear, you have enough for us all. it's seldom that more than a fair share of wisdom falls to the lot of any family, and you have monopolized all that was intended for the brimbles. but tell me,' he said, trying to be grave, though the many mischievous twinkles of his eye ought to have betrayed him to so keen a judge of appearances as mrs. brimble considered herself to be,—'tell me, mary, do you really look on jobson as an impostor?'

'mr. brimble,' returned the lady, with an impressive shake of the head, 'i say nothing, but as to proof of the contrary, why, with me there is none, and there is a something about him that is very much like an adventurer. i may be wrong—i would not be uncharitable; but'—

'then you wouldn't advise me to let him visit here? in short, you would have me cut him?'

'all i desire is caution, mr. brimble. he has a manner i do not admire, and i think i may be allowed to be a judge of such things.'

'well, i will be careful. he has rather a designing look, now i come to examine him,' said the squire, putting up his eyeglass; 'and he seems to me to be just now taking the bearings of bessie cruden's cap. i think i must go and put her on scent of danger.'

'ah! you will be surprised one day, mr. brimble, and then you will remember my words, as you have often done before.'

'well, mary, if i'm wrong this time, you shall be right without question for ever, and administer lynch law to your heart's delight; but if i should be right, what then? it's just possible, though, he may turn out an adventurous "footman"—some spirited saunders, as you fancy.'

'charity!' said the lady impatiently, as she saw the object of her suspicion approaching her daughter. 'mr. brimble, pray go and entertain your guest, and send charity to me—i wish to speak to her.'

the squire obeyed, and so did charity, very reluctantly. florence, having heard from dr. cruden of the intended expedition to parker's dew, assailed him with innumerable questions as to what was the matter—what would happen if sir valary died, where marjory would go, etc.; and there was much wonderment among all the ladies as to the merits of the case, when they separated for the night.

* * * * *

in a room, dimly lighted by the early sun, streaming through narrow windows in a heavy wall, sat the sick man, with marjory at his side.

'it is growing into day, marjory,' he said in a feeble voice, raising himself from his half-recumbent posture.

marjory, tenderly kissing his forehead, prepared the draught which dr. cruden had left for her father to take on his awaking.

poor marjory! all night she had been watching; every sound had made her heart beat. it might be dr. cruden; he promised to return—promised to bring her uncle; but the night had worn away; her father, sleeping and waking, had on the whole been more restful, more at ease, than she could have hoped. 'something has kept him away,' she thought; but fatigue and anxiety, added to disappointment, had for the time quelled much of her dauntless spirit.

'yours has been a dreary life, my child,' said the old man—old, not by years, but through the ravages of an embittered spirit; 'your youth buried in this gloomy place—no companionship'—

'no companionship!' exclaimed marjory, nearly letting the medicine fall in her surprise.

more groaning out his feelings than addressing her, the old man continued, 'i have many sins on my head—my greatest—my love for you—drove me to— alas! what a delusion! i see it now; he was right. i have been cruelly unjust—i have crushed your youth.'

'who is right? who dares to say so? cruel! are you not the very life of my heart, my father—my own, own father?' cried marjory, closely embracing him.

'it has been delusion—strange delusion—fears for your future have driven me hither and thither. oh, conscience! oh, the wrongs that i have done! marjory, i implore you, beware of sin; poverty cannot make a hell, sin can. if i had resisted the tempter, i should not have been thus—blighted, cursed!'

never had marjory heard words like these from her father's lips. the suspicions she had allowed herself in were faint, compared with these vague confessions. lost in pain and wonder, she mingled her tears with his, entreating him to be comforted, and to remember how precious to her was his love, how burdensome life would be without it. after a short pause, she said in a gentle tone, 'father, dear father, have you any secret trouble on your mind? will you hide it from me—from marjory?'

sir valary was long silent; while marjory fondly smoothed the long white locks that strayed upon his shoulder. 'perhaps, father, while the world counts you rich, you are poor, or you fear to be so, for my sake.'

sir valary laid his hand upon her head as she knelt by his side, but made no reply.

'i hear footsteps,' said marjory, opening the door.

'mistress gillies, madam, entreats you so far to consider your health as to retire for a short time for refreshment, allowing me to take your place. i should not have left it till now to proffer my unworthy services, but i feared disturbing either your or my honoured master's sleep. i have been some time assuring myself that i heard your voices.'

poor shady had the whole of that night made the passage his chamber, sitting bolt upright with his back near his master's door, fearing that marjory might require help before it could be rendered, unless he were a wakeful watcher.

marjory saw plainly enough that something more than the request he had made had brought him, and immediately guessed that the doctor and her uncle had arrived.

'where?' she said quietly, as she passed from the room, sir valary having entreated her to obey the summons of mrs. gillies.

'in the hall below,' replied shady in the same tone.

much exhausted, she gathered up her spirits, and, descending the stairs, had her hand upon the door, when mrs. gillies, who was awaiting her, lifted it off hastily. 'are they not there?' said marjory in surprise.

instead of answering, the housekeeper laid her finger on her lips, and, taking marjory's hand, led her through the passage that led to the kitchen. she followed unresistingly, too weary almost for curiosity. when safe within her own precincts, the housekeeper said, 'my dear young lady, bloodworth is in the hall; he has got shady's books and many papers, and wants to see sir valary as soon as he can; for he says he has a long journey before him, and has nothing but pleasant news, and that everything is going well, and sir valary will not be fretted, and many more fine speeches; so i thought it was better to leave him quiet, for i knew dr. cruden would be as good as his word, and be here soon, and then his chance of doing mischief would be over. i have turned the key outside the door, without his knowing it.'

mrs. gillies was so pleased with her own adroitness that she scarcely noticed the colourless lips and sunken eyes of marjory at first. 'ah!' cried she; 'here am i chattering, and you too ill to listen.'

warmth, restoratives, and an hour's rest brought back some colour, some sign of life, some spirit in the eye of marjory, and the first return of power took her again to the side of her father. his head, a little on one side, rested on the back of his chair, and his eyes were closed as though in sleep. shady had arranged his pillow, adjusted the room, and, with all the ingenuity of affection, tried to give an air of cheerfulness and comfort to the apartment. with his usual deferential bow he left the room as she entered it, determined, whatever might come, that if the doctor did not appear till midnight, bloodworth should not have access without him to sir valary. marjory sat down silently in her old place at her father's feet, leaning her head upon his knee, having told shady not to allow them to be disturbed until dr. cruden's arrival. 'it cannot be long,' she said, 'before he comes.'

a gentle sigh escaped the sleeper. 'he is awaking,' said marjory, kissing the hand that lay close beside her cheek; but sleep seemed to return again, no other sound followed; and, resting her face against him, while she clasped the hand in her own, overcome with weariness she slept.