oaning in every breeze.

The wheels stopped again. Lights flitted across the basement story; and
one above, more dim than the rest, shone palely from the room in which
the sick man slept. The bell rang shrilly out from amidst the dark ivy
that clung around the porch. The heavy door swung back--Maltravers was
on the threshold. His father lived--was better--was awake. The son was
in the father's arms.

CHAPTER X.

"The guardian oak
Mourn'd o'er the roof it shelter'd: the thick air
Labour'd with doleful sounds."
ELLIOTT of _Sheffield_.

MANY days had passed, and Alice was still alone; but she had heard twice
from Maltravers. The letters were short and hurried. One time his father
was better, and there were hopes; another time, and it was not expected
that he could survive the week. They were the first letters Alice had
ever received from him. Those _first_ letters are an event in a girl's
life--in Alice's life they were a very melancholy one. Ernest did not
ask her to write to him; in fact, he felt, at such an hour, a repugnance
to disclose his real name, and receive the letters of clandestine love
in the house in which a father lay in death. He might have given the
feigned address he had previously assumed, at some distant post-town,
where his person was not known. But, then, to obtain such letters, he
must quit his father's side for hours. The thing was impossible. These
difficulties Maltravers did not explain to Alice.

She thought it singular he did not wish to hear from her; but Alice
was humble. What could she say worth troubling him with, and at such an
hour? But how kind in him to write! how precious those letters! and
yet they disappointed her, and cost her floods of tears: they were so
short--so full of sorrow--there was so little love in them; and "dear,"
or even "_dearest_ Alice," that uttered by the voice was so tender,
looked cold upon the lifeless paper. If she but knew the exact spot
where he was it would be some comfort; but she only knew that he was
away, and in grief; and though he was little more than thirty miles
distant, she felt as if immeasurable space divided them. However, she
consoled herself as she could; and strove to shorten the long miserable
day by playing over all the airs he liked, and reading all the passages
he had commended. She should be so improved when he returned; and how
lovely the garden would look; for every day its trees and bouquets
caught a new smile from