en a tap--too light to be that of
Mrs. Gill or the housemaid--summoned young Sympson to the door.

"How is Mr. Moore to-night?" asked a low voice from the dark gallery.

"Come in and see him yourself."

"Is he asleep?"

"I wish he could sleep. Come and speak to him, Shirley."

"He would not like it."

But the speaker stepped in, and Henry, seeing her hesitate on the
threshold, took her hand and drew her to the couch.

The shaded light showed Miss Keeldar's form but imperfectly; yet it
revealed her in elegant attire. There was a party assembled below,
including Sir Philip Nunnely; the ladies were now in the drawing-room,
and their hostess had stolen from them to visit Henry's tutor. Her pure
white dress, her fair arms and neck, the trembling chainlet of gold
circling her throat and quivering on her breast, glistened strangely
amid the obscurity of the sickroom. Her mien was chastened and pensive.
She spoke gently.

"Mr. Moore, how are you to-night?"

"I have not been very ill, and am now better."

"I heard that you complained of thirst. I have brought you some grapes;
can you taste one?"

"No; but I thank you for remembering me."

"Just one."

From the rich cluster that filled a small basket held in her hand she
severed a berry and offered it to his lips. He shook his head, and
turned aside his flushed face.

"But what, then, can I bring you instead? You have no wish for fruit;
yet I see that your lips are parched. What beverage do you prefer?"

"Mrs. Gill supplies me with toast-and-water. I like it best."

Silence fell for some minutes.

"Do you suffer?--have you pain?"

"Very little."

"What made you ill?"

Silence.

"I wonder what caused this fever? To what do you attribute it?"

"Miasma, perhaps--malaria. This is autumn, a season fertile in fevers."

"I hear you often visit the sick in Briarfield, and Nunnely too, with
Mr. Hall. You should be on your guard; temerity is not wise."

"That reminds me, Miss Keeldar, that perhaps you had better not enter
this chamber or come near this couch. I do not believe my illness is
infectious. I scarcely fear"--with a sort of smile--"_you_ will take it;
but why should you run even the shadow of a risk? Leave me."

"Patience, I will go soon; but I should like to do something for you
before I depart--any little service----"

"They will miss you below."

"No; the gentlemen are still at table."

"They will not linger long. Sir Philip Nunnely is no w