he hoped was asleep, said from her pillow, "Ask dear Norman to let
me give him one kiss."

She ran down headlong, clutched Norman as he was taking off his
greatcoat, told him that Margaret wanted him, and dragged him up without
letting him go, till she reached the first landing, where she stood
still, saying breathlessly, "New Zealand."

"If I wished to fail, she would keep me to it."

"I beg your pardon," said Ethel, claiming heartily his caress. "I was
wrong to doubt either of you. Now, I know how to feel! But Margaret must
not wait."

The happy youth, in the flush of love and joy, bent gently, almost
tearfully, down in silence to the white form, half seen in the twilight,
whose hopes had fleeted away from earth, and who was calmly, softly
gliding after them. Hardly a word was uttered, but of all the many
heartfelt thoughts that had passed while the face was pressed into
Margaret's pillow, and her sympathising arms round the neck, surely none
was ever deeper, than was his prayer and vow that his affection should
be like hers, unearthly, and therefore enduring.

The embrace was all; Margaret must not be agitated, and, indeed, the
events of the day had been too much for her, and the ensuing morning
brought the fluttering of heart and prostration of strength, no longer
a novelty and occasion of immediate terror, but the token of the waning
power of life.

Till she was better, her father had no thoughts for aught else, but,
as with many another invalid, the relief from present distress was as
cheering as if it had been recovery, and ere night, her placid look
of repose had returned, and she was devising pretty greetings for her
newest Daisy.

Perhaps the sobering effect of these hours of anxiety was in Norman's
favour, on entering into conversation with his father. Those visions,
which had had their swing the night before, belonged to the earlier,
more untamed period of Dr. May's life, and had melted away in the dim
room, made sacred by lingering mementos of his wife, and in the sound of
that panting breath and throbbing heart. His vehemence had been, after
all, chiefly against his own misgivings, and when he heard of his son's
resolution, and Meta's more than acquiescence, he was greatly touched,
and recurred to his kind, sorrowful promise, that he would never be
a stumbling-block in the path of his children. Still he owned himself
greatly allured by the career proposed by Lord Cosham, and thought
Norman should