rkened room, and heard his cheerful
tones saying, "I have brought Ethel to you!"

"Ethel! oh!" said a low, weak voice, with a sound as of expecting a
treat, and Ethel was within a curtain, where she began, in the dimness,
to see something white moving, and her hands were clasped by two long
thin ones. "There!" said Dr. May, "now, if you will be good, I will
leave you alone. Nurse is by to look after you, and you know she always
separates naughty children."

Either the recurrence to nursery language, or the mere sisterly touch
after long separation, seemed to annihilate all the imaginary mutual
dread, and, as Ethel bent lower and lower, and Flora's arms were round
her, the only feeling was of being together again, and both at once made
the childish gesture of affection, and murmured the old pet names of
"Flossy," and "King," that belonged to almost forgotten days, when they
were baby sisters, then kissed each other again.

"I can't see you," said Ethel, drawing herself up a little. "Why, Flora,
you look like a little white shadow!"

"I have had such weak eyes," said Flora, "and this dim light is
comfortable. I see your old sharp face quite plain."

"But what can you do here?"

"Do? Oh, dear Ethel, I have not had much of doing. Papa says I have
three years' rest to make up."

"Poor Flora!" said Ethel; "but I should have thought it tiresome,
especially for you."

"I have only now been able to think again," said Flora; "and you will
say I am taking to quoting poetry. Do you remember some lines in that
drama that Norman admired so much?"

"Philip von Artevelde?"

"Yes. I can't recollect them now, though they used to be always running
in my head--something about time to mend and time to mourn."

"These?" said Ethel--

"He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend.
Eternity mourns that."

"I never had time before for either," said Flora. "You cannot think
how I used to be haunted by those, when I was chased from one thing to
another, all these long, long eighteen months. I am in no haste to take
up work again."

"Mending as well as mourning," said Ethel thoughtfully.

Flora sighed.

"And now you have that dear little Christmas gift to--" Ethel paused.

"She is not nearly so fine and healthy as her sister was," said Flora,
"poor little dear. You know, Ethel, even now, I shall have very little
time with her in that London life. Her papa wants me so much, and I must
leave