resh discoveries, or
incidents wonderful to the inland mind.

After dinner, which had driven Leonard to lie on his bed, Aubrey
persuaded his sister to come to see his greatest prize; a quaint old
local naturalist, a seafaring man, with a cottage crammed with pans of
live wonders of the deep in water, and shelves of extinct ones, 'done
up in stane pies,' not a creature, by sea or land, that had haunted
Coombe for a few million of ages, seemed to have escaped him. Such
sea-side sojourns as the present, are the prime moments for coquetries
with the lighter branches of natural science, and the brother and
sister had agreed to avail themselves of the geological facilities of
their position, the fascinations of Hugh Miller's autobiography having
entirely gained them during Aubrey's convalescence. Ethel tore herself
away from the discussion of localities with the old man, who was guide
as well as philosopher, boatman as well as naturalist, and returned to
her patient, whom she found less feverish, though sadly low and languid.

'I wish I knew what to do for you,' she said, sitting down by him.
'What would your sister do for you?'

'Nothing,' he wearily said, 'I mean, a great deal too much.' The tone
so recalled Norman's dejected hopelessness, that she could not help
tenderly laying her cold hands on the hot brow, and saying, 'Yes, I
know how little one can do as a sister--and the mockery it is to think
that one place can ever be taken!'

The brown eyes looked at her with moist earnestness that she could
hardly bear, but closed with a look of relief and soothing, as she held
her hand on his forehead. Presently, however, he said, 'Don't let me
keep you in.'

'I have been out, thank you. I am so glad to try to do anything for
you.'

'Thank you. What o'clock is it, please? Ah, then I ought to take that
draught! I forgot it in the morning.'

He permitted her to fetch it and pour it out, but as she recognized a
powerful tonic, she exclaimed, 'Is this what you are taking? May it
not make you feverish?'

'No doubt it does,' he said, lying down again; 'it was only Henry--'

'What! did not my father know of it?'

'Of course he does not, as it seems to be poison.'

'Not exactly that,' said Ethel; 'but I was surprised, for it was talked
of for Aubrey; but they said it wanted watching.'

'Just like Henry,' observed Leonard.

'Well,' said Ethel, repressing her indignation, 'I am glad, at least,
to find a possible ca