ere."

As she closed the door, he pressed his face against the morocco lining and
groaned unconsciously, and large glittering tears, creeping from beneath
the trembling lashes, hid themselves in the curling brown beard.

To see that Mrs. Clifton's supper suited her, and then to read aloud to her
for half an hour from the worn family Bible, was part of the daily routine
which Electra permitted nothing to interrupt. On this occasion she found
the old lady seated, as usual, before the fire, her crutches leaning
against the chair, and her favourite cat curled on the carpet at her feet.
Most tenderly did the aged cripple love her son's protegee, and the
wrinkled, sallow face lighted up with a smile of pleasure at her entrance.

"I thought it was about time for you to come to me. Sit down, dear, and
touch the bell for Kate. How is Harry?"

"No stronger, I am afraid. You know this is very bad weather for him."

"Yes; when he came up to-day I thought he looked more feeble than I had
ever seen him; and as I sit here and listen to his hollow cough, every
sound seems a stab at my heart." She rocked herself to and fro for a
moment, and added mournfully--

"Ah, child! it is so hard to see my youngest boy going down to the grave
before me. The last of five, I hoped he would survive me; but consumption
is a terrible thing; it took my husband first, then, in quick succession,
my other children, and now Harry, my darling, my youngest, is the last
prey."

Anxious to divert her mind, Electra adroitly changed the conversation, and,
when she rose to say good night, some time after, had the satisfaction of
knowing that the old lady had fallen asleep. In was in vain that she
arranged several tempting dishes on the table beside the painter, and
coaxed him to partake of them; he received but a cup of tea from her hand,
and motioned the remainder away. As the servant removed the tray, he looked
up at his pupil, and said--

"Please wheel the lounge nearer to the grate; I am too tired to sit up
to-night."

She complied at once, shook up the pillow, and, as he laid his head upon
it, she spread his heavy plaid shawl over him.

"Now, sir, what shall I read this evening?"

"'_Arcana Coelestia_,' if you please."

She took up the volume, and began at the place he designated; and as she
read on and on, her rich flexible voice rose and fell upon the air like
waves of melody. One of her hands chanced to hang over the arm of the
chair, and as