A matter of very serious importance to us all has just taken place-that is, we have just come to the knowledge of it-and your good husband is the very person to get us out of our difficulty.'

'The very man,' whispered Miss Jennynge to Mrs. Percival Lott. I heard him say, "What! no grace?" the first day he came to the table-d'hôte. He will now have an opportunity of supplying the omission.'

'I am sure my husband will be ready to do any one a kindness,' observed Mrs. Wallace, simply.

And this is a kindness,' said Mrs. Armytage, decisively; 'certainly to us, and I may say even to Mr. Josceline himself, since it is to put a stop to his career of duplicity.'

'Duplicity and Mr. Josceline! What do you mean?' interrupted Mrs. Wallace, speaking with great emotion. Pray say nothing against Mr. Josceline just now, madam, even if it is true, which I very much doubt. Don't you know what has happened?'

"No-what?' inquired Mrs. Armytage, as

greedy for more gossip as a tiger who has tasted blood for gore.

"What? what?' reiterated the other ladies.

'Well, Mr. Josceline has just been taken seriously ill; he has been carried upstairs and put to bed.'

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That's his art,' observed Mrs. Armytage, incredulously. He has had a hint that his duplicity has been discovered. To take to one's bed is a very old diplomatic device.'

'Mrs. Armytage,' returned Mrs. Wallace, with a severity that would have astonished herself had she been conscious of it; if 'if what you have to say against Mr. Josceline is false, it is shameful; and if it is true, to say it now is shameful likewise. You are speaking of a dying man.'

A dying man! How dreadful!' exclaimed Mrs. Jennynge, in quavering tones; 'you are always saying dreadful things, Mrs. Wallace.'

'I am only saying what Dr. Cooper has just told me, that Mr. Josceline's life must be counted by hours. There is no hope.'

'Still,' urged Mrs. Armytage, irritated at

being taken to task-and, as was evident, with the approval of the company-by a lady so inferior to her in the social scale, the truth must be told, we are taught, even of the dead.'

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‘If this man has imposed upon us, Mrs. Armytage,' interrupted Mrs. Wallace, in a terrible voice, ""this man," as you call him, is about to appear before his Maker. What matters it what may be your judgment of him or mine? Moreover, if you have no reverence for the dead, respect the living, and be silent. Remember, Mr. Josceline has a daughter.'

Mrs. Armytage opened her mouth twice to speak, but opened it in vain. She only gasped like a fish out of water; while Mrs. Wallace, keeping her eyes fixed upon her with withering

scorn, moved slowly, nay (so bravely did her indignation bear her up) almost majestically, from the room.

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CHAPTER XXVIII.

DYING WORDS.

It is most common for the doctors to err (or to pretend to err) in the case of the sick on the side of hopefulness. They say, 'We have seen persons even worse, who have got over it we are not prepared to say there is no hope' (indeed, when they are prepared to go to that length, matters are serious indeed); or, 'To-morrow we shall be able to speak with greater certainty,' when, in fact, they have private doubts whether the patient will not have another morn than ours.' But sometimes, misled by pulse and feature, and ignorant of the mental vitality of a man—the vigorous will that for a season will bid defiance to death itself—they fix the date of dissolution too early. Mrs. Wallace had but repeated Dr. Cooper's words when she said that Mr. Josce

line's life was now to be measured by hours. But the hours were more than he had reckoned

upon. They reached to days. What days they were to Ella, can only be imagined by those who have watched the parting from them of their only earthly tie. She had often thought of such a contingency, of course, though it was an idea she had always put from her, as though to dwell upon it had been to hasten the event; but it was so different, so far as the sufferer was concerned, from all she had ever pictured it to be. There was resignation, in its completeness almost sublime, but somehow with little that could be called divine about it; and there was patience. Once only, when she whispered in trembling tones, 'Dear papa, would you like to see a clergyman?' did he show symptoms of irritation. His reply was a simple No;' but uttered with a vehemence that astounded almost as much as it shocked her. There had not seemed to be life enough in him to have so expressed himself. For the most part he lay motionless, with her hand in his, looking at her with silent pity.

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