says you have
had a sad night with poor Miss Locke, and are looking very tired. Poor
Ursula! you are spending all your strength on other people.

'In another half-hour I shall leave Gladwyn. I think I am glad to go,
things are so miserable here, and one loses patience sometimes. I wish
I could know poor Susan Locke's fate before I go; but Giles seems to have
little hope. Take care of yourself for my sake, Ursula. I have grown to
love you very dearly.

'--Your affectionate friend,

'Gladys.'

Mr. Hamilton came again early in the evening, and I took the opportunity
of paying Phoebe another visit.

She was lying with her eyes closed, and looked very ill and
exhausted,--alarmingly so, I thought: her emotion had nearly spent
itself, and she was now passive and waiting for the worst.

'Let me know when it happens,' she whispered. 'I have no hope now, but I
will try and bear it.' And she drew my hands to her lips and kissed them:
'they have touched Susan, they are doing my work, they are blessed hands
to me.' And then she seemed unable to bear more.

When Mr. Hamilton paid his final visit he announced his intention of
remaining in the house. 'There will be a change one way or another before
long, and I shall not leave you by yourself to-night,' he said quietly;
and in my heart I was not sorry to hear this. He told me that there was a
good fire downstairs, and that he meant to take possession of a very
comfortable arm-chair, but that he wanted to remain in the sick-room for
half an hour or so.

I fancied that his professional eyes had already detected some change.
Presently he walked away to the fireplace and stood looking down into the
flames in rather an absent way.

I could not help looking at him once or twice, he seemed so absorbed in
thought; his dark face looked rigid, his lips firmly closed, and his
forehead slightly puckered.

More than once I had puzzled myself over a fancied resemblance of Mr.
Hamilton to some picture I had seen. All at once I remembered the
subject. It was the picture of a young Christian sleeping peacefully just
before he was called to his combat with wild beasts in the amphitheatre:
the keeper was even then opening the door: the lions were waiting for
their prey. The face was boyish, but still Mr. Hamilton reminded me of
him. And there was a picture of St. Augustine sitting with his mother
Monica, that reminded me of Mr. Hamilton too. I had called him plain, and
Jill thought him posit