nion first."

"That is easy at any rate. He will be here to-morrow morning."

"And when do you wish to start?"

"By the first mail. I would not lose an hour if I could help it."

"You would frighten your father to death. No, you must wait a week
certainly."

"I wish I were certain of being off in a week."

"Unreasonable boy! You talk of going across the Atlantic as other people
do of going across the Channel. See, there is Brown, grandpapa must be
awake."

They went into the library and found Mr. Beresford quite ready for an
hour or two of cheerful chat about the thousand trifles with which his
granddaughter always contrived to amuse him. Then she went away, turning
as she drove off to give Maurice a last encouraging nod; and not long
after, Mr. Beresford complained of being more drowsy than usual, and
asked Maurice to read him to sleep.

A book, not too amusing, was found, and the reading began; but the
reader's thoughts had wandered far from it and from Hunsdon, when they
were suddenly recalled by a strange gurgling gasping sound. Alas! for
Maurice's hopes. His grandfather lay struggling for the second time in
the grasp of paralysis.

They carried him to his bed, dumb and more than half unconscious; and
there day after day, and week after week, he lay between life and death;
taking little notice of anybody, but growing so restlessly uneasy
whenever Maurice was out of his sight, that all they thought of doing
was contriving by every possible means to save him the one disquiet of
which he still seemed capable.

CHAPTER IX.

The day after that on which Mr. Strafford paid his first visit to the
jail at Cacouna, was the one fixed for Doctor Morton's funeral. Lucia
knew that other friends would be with Bella, and was thankful to feel
herself at liberty to stay at home--to be with her mother up to the
moment of her going to that interview which Mr. Strafford advised, and
to be on the spot at her return to hear without delay whatever its
result might be.

In the afternoon, while the whole town was occupied with the ceremony
which had so deep and painful an interest for everybody, Mrs. Costello
and her faithful friend started for the jail. They said little to each
other on the way, but as they drew near the end of their walk, Mrs.
Costello began to talk about indifferent subjects by way of trying to
lift for a moment the oppressive weight of thought which seemed almost
to stupefy her. But the effort was