stice. Good night, Mervyn; I hope this has not done
you harm.'

'I am glad not to be at Paddington this minute,' said Mervyn. 'You will
stay and help us through this business. It is past us.'

'I will stay as long as I can, if you wish it.'

Phoebe's fervent 'Thank you!' was for both. She had never heard such
friendly tones between those two, though Mervyn's were still half sullen,
and chiefly softened by dejection and weariness.

'Why, Phoebe,' cried Robert, as the door closed, 'how could you not tell
me this?'

'I thought I had told you that he was very unwell.'

'Unwell! I never saw any one so much altered.'

'He is at his best when he is pale. The attacks are only kept off by
reducing him, and he must be materially better to have no threatening
after such a day as this.'

'Well, I am glad you have not had the letter that I posted only to-day!'

'I knew you were displeased,' said Phoebe, 'and you see you were quite
right in not wishing us to stay here; but you forgive us now--Mervyn and
me, I mean.'

'Don't couple yourself with him, Phoebe!'

'Yes, I must; for we both equally misjudged, and he blames himself more
than any one.'

'His looks plead for him as effectually as you can do, Phoebe, and rebuke
me for having fancied you weak and perverse in remaining after the
remonstrance.'

'I do not wonder at it,' said Phoebe; 'but it is over now, and don't let
us talk about it. I want nothing to spoil the comfort of knowing that I
have you here.'

'I have a multitude of things to say, but you look sleepy.'

'Yes, I am afraid I am. I should like to sit up all night to make the
most of you, but I could not keep awake.'

Childlike, she no sooner had some one on whom to repose her care than
slumber claimed its due, and she went away to her thankful rest,
treasuring the thought of Robert's presence, and resting in the ineffable
blessing of being able to overlook the thorns in gratitude for the roses.

Bertha did not appear in the morning. Robert went to her door, and was
told that she would see no one; and Phoebe's entreaties for admission
were met with silence, till he forbade their repetition. 'It only
hardens her,' he said; 'we must leave her to herself.'

'She will not eat, she will be ill!'

'If she do not yield at dinner-time, Lieschen shall carry food to her,
but she shall not have the pleasure of disappointing you. Sullenness
must be left to weary itself out.'

'Is not this more sham