me step which I used to listen for, and love to
hear, in my illness. I ran to the door, and opened it. My instinct had
not deceived me! it was my sister!

"Basil!" she exclaimed, before I could speak--"has Ralph been here?"

"Yes, love--yes."

"Where has he gone? what has he done for you? He promised me--"

"And he has kept his promise nobly, Clara: he is away helping me now."

"Thank God! thank God!"

She sank breathless into a chair, as she spoke. Oh, the pang of looking
at her at that moment, and seeing how she was changed!--seeing the
dimness and weariness of the gentle eyes; the fear and the sorrow that
had already overshadowed the bright young face!

"I shall be better directly," she said, guessing from my expression what
I then felt--"but, seeing you in this strange place, after what happened
yesterday; and having come here so secretly, in terror of my father
finding it out--I can't help feeling your altered position and mine a
little painfully at first. But we won't complain, as long as I can get
here sometimes to see you: we will only think of the future now. What a
mercy, what a happiness it is that Ralph has come back! We have always
done him injustice; he is far kinder and far better than we ever thought
him. But, Basil, how worn and ill you are looking! Have you not told
Ralph everything? Are you in any danger?"

"None, Clara--none, indeed!"

"Don't grieve too deeply about yesterday! Try and forget that horrible
parting, and all that brought it about. He has not spoken of it since,
except to tell me that I must never know more of your fault and your
misfortune, than the little--the very little--I know already. And I have
resolved not to think about it, as well as not to ask about it, for the
future. I have a hope already, Basil--very, very far off fulfilment--but
still a hope. Can you not think what it is?"

"Your hope is far off fulfilment, indeed, Clara, if it is hope from my
father!"

"Hush! don't say so; I know better. Something occurred, even so soon as
last night--a very trifling event--but enough to show that he thinks of
you, already, in grief far more than in anger."

"I wish I could believe it, love; but my remembrance of yesterday--"

"Don't trust that remembrance; don't recall it! I will tell you what
occurred. Some time after you had gone, and after I had recovered myself
a little in my own room, I went downstairs again to see my father; for
I was too terrified and too miserable