, and
said simply:

"Pray, say no more about it. I acted on an impulse and some wandering
words of yours, with results for which I could not hope. There is
nothing to thank me for."

"Then, sir, I thank God, who inspired you with that impulse, and may
every blessing reward your bravery."

Stella looked up as though to speak, but changed her mind and returned
to her seat by the fire.

"What is there to reward?" said Morris impatiently; "that your daughter
is still alive is my reward. How are you to-night, Mr. Fregelius?"

CHAPTER XI

A MORNING SERVICE

Mr. Fregelius replied he was as well as could be expected; that the
doctor said no complications were likely to ensue, but that here upon
this very bed he must lie for at least two months. "That," he added, "is
a sad thing to have to say to a man into whose house you have drifted
like a log into a pool of the rocks."

"It is not my house, but my father's, who is at present in France,"
answered Morris. "But I can only say on his behalf that both you and
your daughter are most welcome until you are well enough to move to the
Rectory."

"Why should I not go there at once?" interrupted Stella. "I could come
each day and see my father."

"No, no, certainly not," said Morris. "How could you live alone in that
great, empty house?"

"I am not afraid of being alone," she answered, smiling; "but let it
be as you like, Mr. Monk--at any rate, until you grow tired of us, and
change your mind."

Then Mr. Fregelius told Morris what he had not yet heard--that when it
became known that they had deserted Stella, leaving her to drown in
the sinking ship, the attentions of the inhabitants of Monksland to the
cowardly foreign sailors became so marked that their consul at Northwold
had thought it wise to get them out of the place as quickly as possible.
While this story was in progress Stella left the room to speak to the
nurse who had been engaged to look after her father at night.

Afterwards, at the request of Mr. Fregelius, Morris told the tale of
his daughter's rescue. In the course of it he mentioned how he found her
standing on the deck of the sinking ship and singing a Norse song, which
she had informed him was an ancient death-dirge.

The old clergyman turned his head and sighed.

"What is the matter?" asked Morris.

"Nothing, Mr. Monk; only that song is unlucky in my family, and I hoped
that she had forgotten it."

Morris looked at him blankly.

"You don'