CHAPTER XVIII.

LADY RUTH fast recovered, although at first she had hovered on the brink of the tomb; then had been the time of trial with her brother; he was tormented with all the agonies of remorse. If she had changed time for eternity, then indeed would life have been a blank to him. All the servants could see his anxiety, and pitied him. Mark was at his wits' end on account of his master's wretchedness, and often tried hard to get him to take nourishment, or at all events a little air; anything to get him away from her bedroom door; but all to no purpose, until her own natural tone of voice was substituted for her horrible ravings. He remained seizing upon the doctors and nurses as they left the room, and pumping them quite dry of news respecting the poor sufferer; but when he heard her voice and was told that all was well, then a load was indeed removed from off his heart. And he sought the open air; the house was too confined for him; he must seek the breezy hills which surrounded it, with no roof save the glorious canopy of heaven.

Then he was admitted to her bedside, and with a portion of what passed we are acquainted. It was arranged that on the ensuing morning he should proceed to Townsend Park, and fetch home his niece. Accordingly, he

started. Before he reached the confines of the

park, he fell in with a merry party of young ladies, and among them was his niece. The noise of approaching wheels had startled them, evidently in the midst of their enjoyment, and they now stood quiet and staid enough.

"Why, it's my dear uncle Edgar!" exclaimed Ruth. "What can he want, surely he doesn't think me worth coming to look at?"

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Perhaps not," saucily rejoined another; "but you are not the only girl at Townsend. You are handsome, Ruth, but your style of beauty might not suit every one."

"How very grave and serious he looks," exclaimed a third.

"But then, poor fellow, he's

in deep mourning; that accounts for it."

Ruth turned rather pale, and the party looked rueful; the remembrance of death puts a stopper on mirth. Lord Edgar drew up and alighted, saluting the ladies most politely and his niece affectionately; yet the generous fellow felt queer somehow. Even the silence of the party appeared to strike a damp chill right through him. He had fancied it an easy

task imposed upon him, just simply driving his niece home on such a gloriously bright day. But now he found the matter rather different to what he had calculated upon.

"Did you drive over to see me, uncle Edgar?" asked Ruth, as they walked slowly on, she hanging on to his arm with both hands, and looking up in his face fondly. "Have you been to the Castle, and how are they all?

"I saw your mother for a few moments this morning, my pet; she has been unwell, but is now all right again; but I have come on an errand for which I am inclined to think you will not thank me; do you know, you are to return home with me?" He did manage to get this out, but he coloured and stammered, and stuttered in a most alarming manner, gave many convenient little short coughs, and altogether behaved badly for a strong man. We are all much like children at times.

"But do you bring me no message, no note, uncle darling? this, with my sudden summons, appears strange ;" and a tear started in her bright eyes as she remembered the deep mourning, and a sad thought struck her. "You said my mother had been unwell, but had recovered. Are you preparing me for a great calamity? Oh, uncle, pray, pray tell me all. I can see now that something dreadful has happened;" and

she hung on tighter than ever, her bright eyes lit up strangely and then became dimmed with

tears.

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My dear child, you are like an April day, all sunshine and tears. On such a day as this, when our Father smiles upon us and proves how much He loves us, we should all be quiet and happy; whatever betide if we are good ourselves, we may rely on His constant care." And the uncle looked down on the beautiful face that was raised to his, wondering the while in what way he could best break the news; he felt uncomfortable and unhappy, looking upon himself as a culprit. Perhaps more appeared in his countenance than he wished, for his niece with startling energy said:

"Uncle, now I know why you have come here; my mother-dearest mother! Accomplish your task as you may think best; I know the worst." And she burst into a perfect tornado of grief.

Galbraith was in for it now; he exclaimed hastily: "Ruth, your mother is not dead, nor is she, I pray God, likely to die this time; she has passed through a cruel ordeal, but is now getting calm and well. Yet suppose indeed that it had pleased God to take her whom he has only lent to us for a time, surely it is not for us to murmur at his taking his own back

again to live among the angels. Now, my dear Ruth, it has pleased the Almighty Disposer of events in His infinite mercy to visit us, and he has taken to himself your father: that then is what I had to communicate. And now, Ruth, my stricken one, you may look upon me as your new father; I will take the place of him who is removed from among us, and endeavour to be all to you that he should have been." He gave a tremendous sigh of relief, and they walked on in silence, Ruth weeping quietly to herself. She felt thankful that it was not her mother, but, in spite of all, she had loved her father. Their walk to the house was very quiet; they walked up the drive; the others had cut across the park, and were already at home. Mark drove very slowly after his master, wondering how he would manage to break the news to the "poor delicate crittur."

At last they arrived at the house; Mrs. Elliott was prepared for something wrong, and waited for Ruth. So after saluting Lord Edgar, the two ladies passed into a room by themselves; poor girl! she was in good hands, those of a genuine English matron. Mr. Elliott and Galbraith shook each other cordially by the hand, and the former led the way at once to the dining-hall, where refreshments were speedily served.