, and remembered that the flame of life was flickering low in
the golden vase.

De Vayne was much beloved, and nothing could exceed the delicacy of the
attention shown him. Choice conservatory flowers were left almost daily
at his door, and men procured rare and rich fruits from home or from
London, not because De Vayne needed any such luxuries, which were easily
at his command, but that they might show him their sympathy and
distress. Several ladies more or less connected with Saint Werner's
offered their services to Lady De Vayne, but she would not leave her
son, in whose welfare and recovery her whole thoughts were absorbed.

And so, gloomily for the son and mother, the Christmas holidays came on,
and Saint Werner's was deserted. Scarcely even a stray undergraduate
lingered in the courts, and the chapel was closed; no sound of choir or
organ came sweetly across the lawns at morning or evening; the ceaseless
melancholy plash of the great fountain was almost the only sound that
broke the stillness. Julian, Lillyston, and Owen had all gone down for
the holidays, full of grief at the thought of leaving their friend in
such a precarious state, but as yet not permitted to see or serve him.
Lady De Vayne promised to write to Julian regular accounts of Arthur's
health, and told him how often her son spoke of him, both in his
wanderings, and in his clearer moments.

It was touching to see the stately and beautiful lady walking alone at
evening about the deserted college, to gain a breath of the keen winter
air, while her son had sunk for a few moments to fitful rest. She was
pale with long watchings and deep anxiety, and in her whole countenance,
and in her deep and often uplifted eyes, was that look of prayerfulness
and holy communion with an unseen world which they acquire whose abode
has long been in the house of mourning, and removed from the follies and
frivolities of life.

Well-loved grounds of Saint Werner's by the quiet waves of the sedgy
Iscam, with smooth green grass sloping down to the edge, and trim quaint
gardens, and long avenues of chestnut and ancient limes! Though winter
had long whirled away the last red and golden leaf, there was pleasure
in the air of quiet and repose, which is always to be found in those
memory-hallowed walks; and while Lady De Vayne could pace among them in
solitude, she needed no other change, nor any rest from thinking over
her sick son.

She was surprised one evening, very