"As if anyone could be quiet where Miss Emily is," said Norris reproachfully. "I'll trust Emmy," he answered laughing. "That is more nor I would Mr. Everard," she returned with the familiarity that old domestics who have been a long time in a family often acquire. For Norris had been with Mrs. Arlington ever since she was married, now some twenty-six years. After dinner, Everard, Emily and the children, went out for a ramble. On their return, Everard left them near the town, as he had to make some inquiries as to the time the train left, as he was to leave next morning, for they had been so much longer on the way than had been anticipated, consequently his stay at D---- had to be curtailed. When he returned to the cottage, he found Isabel in the old arm chair in the sitting-room, the others had not yet arrived. Isabel was looking wretchedly ill, but pronounced herself much rested. Everard gave her an animated account of their ramble, and an excellent description of the place, but she appeared to take little interest in either. "Perhaps you would rather I didn't talk, he said, as she leaned her head wearily upon her hand. "O, I don't mind," she replied in a tone of such utter indifference that Everard took a book. He did not read however, but sat shading his face with his hand, so as to enable him to contemplate the poor worn face and fragile form of her whom he loved better than life. He pictured her, as she appeared when waiting the arrival of the guests on Grace's birthday, and the contrast was painful in the extreme, neither could he account for the utter hopelessness depicted on her countenance. "Are you aware that I leave in the morning," he said, after some time had elapsed. "So soon," she inquired in surprise. "Yes, by the early train," he replied. Then I must not miss this opportunity of thanking you, for all the trouble you have taken, and for all the kindness you have shown me. Indeed I am very much obliged to you." "I am only too glad to have been of any service to you," he returned with something of the old manner. "Will you not write when you are able, if only a line, just a line, I shall be so anxious to hear." "Emily will write," she answered quietly. Everard bit his lip, he was silenced but not satisfied,--an awkward pause ensued, then the others came in full of glee to find Isabel down. The tea was a very cheerful one, and Isabel strove to appear interested, and to join in the general conversation, but the effort was too much for her, for when she rose to retire for the night, she all but fainted and alarmed them very much. When Everard came into the sitting-room next morning, he found a cheerful fire burning (for the morning was raw and misty) and breakfast on the table, although it was only half-past five o'clock, and shortly after Emily came in. "Why Emmy, this is better luck than I expected," exclaimed Everard in surprise.