CHAPTER XIII.

UNSUCCESSFUL ARGUMENTS.

My night's rest had so far restored my physical strength, that I no longer felt wholly incapable of battling with my own individual grief, or of assisting to lighten the cares of others.

It was late, however, before I got down stairs, and then I found that Mr. Errol had breakfasted and taken his station for awhile in the sick room, while Richard, who had spent the greater part of the night there, was now drinking his coffee in the parlour alone.

"I have been anxiously expecting you," he said, as, without venturing to speak myself, or even to look into his face, I went up and shook hands with him, " you have heard I suppose that Mr. Seymour is a shade better this morning?"

"No, I have heard nothing as yet; the servants are so busy, but I am very glad."

"Yes, it is a little encouragement, at any rate. And now sit down, and let me give you some breakfast. You are not looking as you were when I saw you last."

If he could be so strong and brave, surely it would be a disgrace to me to shed a tear. And yet the very fact of knowing that beneath that calm surface lay, all crushed and bleeding, the hopes of a life time, made self-possession on my part a work of no little difficulty. When the nerves have been weakened by a long season of trial, it is so hard to keep them on all occasions

under due control, and even if we accomplish the task, nature will have her revenge in some other way, and teach us how limited is the strength in which we boast ourselves.

I drank in silence the cup of tea that Richard poured out and handed to me. I had eaten yesterday, but I could not eat now, and yet until I left my room, I had felt so wonderfully better in every respect. I thought that if my companion would only speak freely of the great sorrow which had fallen upon us both, I could reply to him with composure, and the painful sense of restraint at present existing would be done away. But I concluded afterwards that he had preserved his outward calm only at the price of a total avoidance of the subject, and I honoured him the more for being able to dispense with that human sympathy which weaker minds are apt to seek before all else.

When I had finished my tea and rejected, one

by one, the various eatables he so kindly persisted in offering me, I moved my chair to the fire, and asked him (for the sake of saying something) when he should return to London.

"Not yet, he answered, suddenly bringing his own chair beside mine, "but I wish very much, indeed, that I could prevail on you to leave Lismore to-day."

"Oh, your father has been telling you to talk to me about it," I said, feeling really vexed at having the same ground to go over again, "but I warned him that I could be very obstinate, and I am sorry to find you, too, enlisted against me."

"My father, on the contrary, has been won over to your side. The responsibility of opposing you rests now entirely with me, and me alone."

"Then I hope you will be ready to give it up when I assure you that I am altogether deter

mined about this matter, and that I am puzzled to account for the numerous objections I meet."

"Do you think then that your health and life are as valueless to others as they appear to be to yourself."

I felt the checked tears creeping slowly from my eyes at these unexpected words, but I shaded them as if only from the glare of the fire, and said:

"No, but there is no reason why either health or life should be endangered."

“That is your opinion, but it counts for little against the experience of older and wiser heads. Will you take my earnest advice and go ?"

"Please don't ask me."

"I must fulfil my duty at all risks. You know that however precious your ministerings to the sick man might be, he is not at present in a condition to appreciate them. A hired nurse, under his own old servant's superintendence, will