nd went away very
sorrowful. Parnham, at John's request, had arranged to sleep on a sofa
in his master's bedroom.

I rose betimes the next morning and inquired at my brother's room how
he was. Parnham reported that he had passed a restless night, and on
entering a little later I found him in a high fever, slightly delirious,
and evidently not so well as when I saw him last. Mrs. Temple, with much
kindness and forethought, had begged Dr. Empson to remain at Royston for
the night, and he was soon in attendance on his patient. His verdict
was sufficiently grave: John was suffering from a sharp access of
brain-fever; his condition afforded cause for alarm; he could not answer
for any turn his sickness might take. You will easily imagine how much
this intelligence affected me; and Mrs. Temple and Constance shared my
anxiety and solicitude. Constance and I talked much with one another
that morning. Unaffected anxiety had largely removed her reserve, and
she spoke openly of her feelings towards my brother, not concealing her
partiality for him. I on my part let her understand how welcome to me
would be any union between her and John, and how sincerely I should
value her as a sister.

It was a wild winter's morning, with some snow falling and a high wind.
The house was in the disordered condition which is generally observable
on the day following a ball or other important festivity. I roamed
restlessly about, and at last found my way to the picture-gallery,
which had formed the scene of John's adventure on the previous night.
I had never been in this part of the house before, as it contained no
facilities for heating, and so often remained shut in the winter months.
I found a listless pleasure in admiring the pictures which lined the
walls, most of them being portraits of former members of the family,
including the famous picture of Sir Ralph Temple and his family,
attributed to Holbein. I had reached the end of the gallery and sat
down in the oriel watching the snow-flakes falling sparsely, and the
evergreens below me waving wildly in the sudden rushes of the wind. My
thoughts were busy with the events of the previous evening,--with John's
illness, with the ball,--and I found myself humming the air of a waltz
that had caught my fancy. At last I turned away from the garden scene
towards the gallery, and as I did so my eyes fell on a remarkable
picture just opposite to me.

It was a full-length portrait of a young man, life-s