have no interruption--you shall tell me all your
deeds of arms--and, you naughty boy, of love also. Reach that bell, and
ring it--but gently."

I obeyed, and the same handsome young lady, whom I had before seen,
answered the silver summons. She glided in, and stooped over to Mrs
Causand, as she lay on the couch, and their short conference was in
whispers. As she retired, I was rather puzzled by the deep sorrow on
her countenance, and the unfeigned look of pity with which she regarded
her mistress or her friend. When we were again alone, I resumed my low
seat, and was growing rather passionate over one of her beautiful hands,
when, looking down, apparently much pleased with these silly
endearments, she said, "Yes, Ralph, make the most of it; hand and heart,
all, all are yours, for the little space that they will be mine."

Strange and disloyal thoughts began their turmoil in my bosom; and
speculation was busy, and prospects of vanity began to dance before my
eyes. Old enough to be my mother! What then? Mother! the thought
brought with it the black train of ideas of which Daunton was the
demoniac leader. He had asserted that the superb woman before me might
claim from me the affection of a son. I then felt most strongly that I
was not there to play any ridiculous part.

The protestations that I was about to utter died on my lips--I spake
not, but pressed the hand that I held to my heart.

"Now, Ralph," said Mrs Causand, "relate to me all the wonders that you
have encountered--speak lowly"--and she threw a white and very thin
handkerchief over her face.

"But, my dear madam, why may I not gaze upon the countenance that you
know is very dear to me? And this setting sun--how glorious! Do you
know that, at his rising and his setting, I have often thought of you?
Pray come to the window, and look upon it before it is quite hid among
the trees."

"Ralph, by all the love that I bore your mother, by the affection that I
bear to you, do not talk to me of setting suns! I dread to look upon
them. You ask me to rise--oh, son of my best friend--know, that I
cannot--without assistance--without danger--I am on my sick-couch--on my
dying bed--they tell me--me--me, whom you just now so praised for
improved beauty, that my days are numbered--but, I believe them not--
no--no--no--but hush, softly!--I may not agitate myself--you, my sweet
boy, have surely come to me the blessed messenger of health--your finger
shall turn