iged to do it in heaven. Oh!
there, then, I've done. Advice gratis is never valued at its true
worth."

"Let me know, Challen, how all goes on when you leave here," said Sir
Murray, sternly, as he strode towards the door; and five minutes after
the doctor shrugged his shoulders and took another glass of port to
console himself for the rejection of his good offices, as he listened to
the wheels of the departing carriage.

"I'm afraid," he said aloud, "contact with all sorts of people has
robbed me of this refined sensibility--this keen appreciation of injury.
I fancy if any one had done me a wrong, that I could forgive it in less
than twenty years."

"But there never was any wrong, Doctor," said a low, sweet voice, when,
turning, Dr Challen became aware that Mrs Norton had entered
unperceived.

Book 2, Chapter X.

MOTHER AND SON.

"Mother," said Brace Norton the next morning, as, none the worse for his
immersion, he stood by her side, she holding his hand the while and
gazing up into his face,--"mother, I went out yesterday with the full
intention of dreaming no more of my foolish love; and what was the
result? Strange, too," he said, with affected gaiety; "one would have
thought that an hour's immersion would have quenched it. But there, you
will, perhaps, laugh at me, and think me childish and full of folly;
still, I cannot help it--I love her more dearly than ever, and feel no
shame in owning it to you. How am I to give her up now, after holding
her to my breast as I did for a whole hour yesterday, her arms clasped
the while round my neck, and her poor head resting upon my shoulder?
Mother, it was a mingling of misery, despair, and bliss; and when, at
last, I had given up all hope of being saved--when I had struggled till
I could struggle no more--when I had called till my voice failed in my
throat--when I felt that my--our last hour was at hand, I broke faith
even with myself."

Brace paused for a few moments, for his voice was husky, but recovering
himself, he went on:

"I dare say it was wrong; but I was under the impression that all was
over. I could have saved my own life, perhaps; but I could not leave
her to perish. The sun had sunk, and darkness was fast coming on; the
evening breeze was sighing what seemed to my excited fancy a dirge
amidst the rustling reeds; and again and again some curlew flew over us
giving utterance to a loud wail. At one time it seemed so hard to die
just in the spri