Dreary and loveless as had been most of her previous life, she had never endured anything like this, unless one miserable hour upon the Deal Beach, when Philip broke the tidings of his intended departure, were a slight foretaste of the agony, the utter despair, that claimed her now for its victim. Since then, she had been hopeful. His promise of a visit, the tokens of remembrance he had transmitted to her every week, had kept alive memory and expectation, and this was his coming! this the occasion she had pictured so fondly, painted with the brightest hues Love could borrow from imagination! She had heard again the voice that had haunted her dreams, from their parting until now--heard it in deeper, softer tones than it had ever taken in speech with her; heart-music which told that his seekings and yearnings for the one and only beloved were over. And was not her quest of years ended likewise? Truly, there are two senses in which every search, every combat may be said to be closed; one when the victor grasps his prize, or waves aloft his sword in the moment of triumph; the other, when, bleeding, maimed, or dying, the vanquished sinks to the earth without power to rise! A tap at her door startled Sarah. She did not stir until it was repeated, and her father called her name. A stream of light from the hall fell upon her face as she admitted him. "Daughter, what ails you?" was his exclamation. "I am not very well, father." "I should think not, indeed! Come in here and lie down!" He led her to the bed, and, lighting the gas in the chamber, came back to her and felt her pulse. She knew what was the direction of his fears; but to correct his misapprehension was to subject herself to further questioning. Passively she received the pressure of his hand upon her head, the gentle stroking of the disordered hair; but when he stooped to kiss her, he felt that she trembled. "Dear child! I shall never forgive myself if you have taken the fever from me!" "I do not fear that, father. My head aches, and I am very tired. I have been so busy all day, you know." "Yes, and for many other days. You are, without doubt, overworked. I hope this may prove to be all the matter with you. A night's rest may quite cure you." "Yes sir," she answered, chokingly. "You will excuse me to ----, downstairs?" "Certainly. Would you like to have your mother come up to you?" "Oh, no, sir! Please tell her there is no need of it. I shall be better to-morrow." "Your sister"--and he looked more serious, instead of smiling--"has a visitor. Her friend is an acquaintance of yours, also, it appears--the Mr. Benson whom you met at your aunt's in July." "Yes, sir. I know it." "I understood you to say that Lucy had never said positively who her lover was; but this was not the name you told me of, as the person whom you imagined him to be." "I was misled for a time myself, sir," replied the poor girl, pressing her temples between her palms.