"Well, Fitts, I must first tell you a great secret, which I am sure you will be glad to hear," Honor said a little gaily Fitts scratched his ear and looked embarassed, "Mr. Elersley is back again in Ottawa." "Och don't I hope, 'tis yerself is in airnist, Miss Honor," the old man answered between smiles and tears, "is this really the truth?" "Without a doubt, Fitts, and to prove it for yourself, I am going to send you to him with this little note, he is staying at the 'Albion,' it is not far, see him yourself, it will please you both; I do not like to ask you to go out on such a dreadful night, but the message is important." "It will be the powerful queer night, Miss Honor, when I'll not like to go out on your little errands, and more particular when it's to see Mr. Guy that I have loved since he was a lad." "You are a good, devoted servant, Fitts," she answered, "go now, and don't be long, for you may be wanted." The man looked proudly at himself as he thrust her dainty note carefully into his inside pocket, and without further ado left the room. CHAPTER XXXIX. "But bitter hours come to all, When even truths like these will pall, Sick hearts for humbler comfort call, The cry wrung from thy spirits' pain, May echo on some far off plain, And guide a wanderer home again." --Proctor. Next morning, it was a bright and cheerful sun that streamed mat Honor's window, the rain had all passed away, and the air was mild and refreshing. Hastily dressing herself, Honor hurried to Mr. Rayne's door to ascertain how he had passed the night, but as she reached it, she met Aunt Jean coming out, with her forefinger on her lip, and whispering "Sh--sh--" in such premature warning, that Honor looked bewildered as she enquired the cause. "He is sleeping nicely now, run off, we must not disturb him, it is such a natural little sleep," Madame d'Alberg said in a low voice. "Oh, is that it?" Honor exclaimed in great relief, as she turned willingly away and followed Aunt Jean down the broad stairway. They took their silent little breakfast together, and then as Jean rose, to busy herself about the morning occupations, Honor bundled up a mass of pale blue wool, which she was resolving into a cloud, and went off to the library. How long she sat there she could hardly say--every now and then she discovered herself, with her hands resting idly on her work, and her eyes gazing vacantly into the space before her; faces, figures, scenes, were passing backward and forward, as she watched, sensations of every kind racked her whole being--but it is not surprising at all, when one considers her in her true light.