the manner in which he threw off all his own engrossing feelings to sympathize with and assist her. They were now soon to depart, and Elizabeth was not quite sure whether Neville was to accompany them--he had gone to the boat to look after some arrangements made for the patient's comfort--and she sat with the invalid, expecting his return. Falkner reclined near a window, clasping her hand, looking on her with fondness, and speaking of all he owed her; and how he would endeavour to repay, by living, and making life a blessing to her. "I shall live," he said; "I feel that this malady will pass away, and I shall live to devote myself to rewarding you for all your anxieties, to dissipating the cloud with which I have so cruelly overshadowed your young life, and to making all the rest sunshine. I will think only of you; all the rest, all that grieves me, and all that I repent, I cast even now into oblivion." At this moment the stranger entered and drew near. Elizabeth saw him, and said, "And here, dearest father, is another to whom you owe more than you can guess--for kindness to me and the help to you. I do not think I should have preserved you without Mr. Neville." The young man was standing near the couch, looking on the invalid, and rejoicing in the change for the better that appeared. Falkner turned his eyes on him as Elizabeth spoke, a tremour ran through all his limbs, he grew ghastly pale, and fainted. An evil change from this time appeared in his state--and the physician was afraid of the journey, attributing his fainting to his inability to bear any excitement; while Falkner, who was before passive, grew eager to depart. "Change of scene and moving will do me good," he said, "so that no one comes near me, no one speaks to me, but Elizabeth." At one time the idea of Neville's accompanying them was alluded to--he was greatly disturbed--and seriously implored Elizabeth not to allow it. It was rather hard on the poor girl, who found so much support and solace in her new friend's society--but Falkner's slightest wish was with her a law, and she submitted without a murmur, "Do not let me even see him before we go," said Falkner. "Act on this wish, dearest, without hurting his feelings--without betraying to him that I have formed it--it would be an ungracious return for the services he has rendered you--for which I would fain show gratitude; but that cannot be--you alone can repay--do so, as you best may, with thanks--but do not let me see him more." Elizabeth wondered; and, as a last effort to vanquish his dislike, she said, "Do you know that he is the same boy who interested us so much at Baden?--he is no longer savage as he was then--but I fear that he is as unhappy as ever."