omething which she kept.

Then there was a long silence, unbroken till Sissy was thirsty and
wanted something to drink. "What time?" she said when she had finished.

"Half-past twelve."

"It's very dark."

"We will have another candle," said Aunt Harriet.

"No: the candle only makes me see how dark it is all round."

Again there was silence, but not so long this time. And again Sissy
broke it: "Aunt Harriet, he is coming now."

"Yes, darling, he is coming."

"I feel as if I saw the train, with red lights in front, coming through
the night--always coming, but never any nearer."

"But it _is_ nearer every minute. Percival is nearer now than when you
spoke."

Sissy said "Yes," and was quiet again till between one and two. Then
Mrs. Middleton perceived that her eyes were open. "What is it, dear
child?" she said.

"The night is so long!"

"Sissy," said Aunt Harriet softly, "I want you to listen to me. A year
ago, when Godfrey died and I talked about the money that I hoped to
leave you one day, you told me what you should like me to do with it
instead, because you had enough and you thought it was not fair. I
didn't quite understand then, and I would not promise. Do you remember?"

"Yes."

"Sissy, shall I promise now? I've been thinking about it, and I've no
wish on earth but to make you happy. Will it make you happier if I
promise now that it shall be as you said?"

"Yes," said Sissy with eager eyes.

"Then I do promise: all that is mine to leave he shall have."

Sissy answered with a smile. "Kiss me," she said. And so the promise was
sealed. After that the worst of the night seemed somehow to be over.
Sissy slept a little, and Aunt Harriet nodded once or twice in the
easy-chair. Starting into wakefulness after one of these moments, she
saw the outline of the window faintly defined in gray, and thanked God
that the dawn had come.

CHAPTER LI.

BY THE EXPRESS.

Mr. Hardwicke, not knowing Percival Thorne's precise address, had
telegraphed to Godfrey Hammond, begging him to forward the message
without delay. A couple of days earlier Hammond had suddenly taken it
into his head that he was tired of being in town and would go away
somewhere. In a sort of whimsical amusement at his own mood he decided
that the Land's End ought to suit a misanthrope, and promptly took a
ticket for Penzance as a considerable step in the right direction.

It made no difference to Percival, for Hammond had left full