etter.'--Don't
you know, Mr. Gallilee, that the child wrote to Ovid?"

The surprise and delight of Zo's fond old father, when he heard the
story of the letter, forced a smile from Miss Minerva, even at that
time of doubt and sorrow. He declared that he would have returned to his
daughter by the mail train of that night, but for two considerations. He
must see his stepson before he went back to Scotland; and he must search
all the toy-shops in London for the most magnificent present that could
be offered to a young person of ten years old. "Tell Ovid, with my love,
I'll call again to-morrow," he said, looking at his watch. "I have just
time to write to Zo by to-day's post." He went to his club, for the
first time since he had returned to London. Miss Minerva thought of
bygone days, and wondered if he would enjoy his champagne.

A little later Mr. Null called--anxious to know if Ovid had arrived.

Other women, in the position of Miss Minerva and Teresa, might have
hesitated to keep the patient's room closed to the doctor. These two
were resolved. They refused to disturb Ovid, even by sending up a
message. Mr. Null took offence. "Understand, both of you," he said,
"when I call to-morrow morning, I shall insist on going upstairs--and if
I find this incivility repeated, I shall throw up the case." He left the
room, triumphing in his fool's paradise of aggressive self-conceit.

They waited for some time longer--and still no message reached them from
upstairs. "We may be wrong in staying here," Miss Minerva suggested; "he
may want to be alone when he leaves her--let us go."

She rose to return to the house of her new employers. They respected
her, and felt for her: while Carmina's illness continued, she had the
entire disposal of her time. The nurse accompanied her to the door;
resigned to take refuge in the landlady's room. "I'm afraid to be by
myself," Teresa said. "Even that woman's chatter is better for me than
my own thoughts."

Before parting for the night they waited in the hall, looking towards
the stairs, and listening anxiously. Not a sound disturbed the
melancholy silence.

CHAPTER LVIII.

Among many vain hopes, one hope had been realised: they had met again.

In the darkened room, her weary eyes could hardly have seen the betrayal
of what he suffered--even if she had looked up in his face. She was
content to rest her head on his breast, and to feel his arm round her.
"I am glad, dear," she said, "to