"And yet there is one thing, Mr. Haveloc, which, if Aveline's fate were less certain, I could never propose to you. Your society is an amusement to her, and in sickness every enjoyment is so curtailed, that I dread for her the slightest deprivation. Can I ask you to devote some of your time to us while you remain in the neighbourhood; can I even ask that you should prolong your stay beyond what you might have originally intended. If she should linger--" Her voice failed her. "Most willingly, my dear Mrs. Fitzpatrick," he exclaimed with eagerness, "sickness admits of few alleviations. I should be thankful, indeed, if I could afford any comfort to your daughter or yourself." "You see how desperate I have become," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick with a smile, "to demand of you such a melancholy seclusion. You, whose wealth and position would make you so welcome, so caressed in general society. But all considerations give way to the approach of death." "Good Heaven! Can you believe such a thought could have a moment's weight with me?" he said hastily, "is life a May game that we should only count the hours devoted to revelry and enjoyment? I esteem myself fortunate that I am able to be with you at a time of so much anxiety and distress." "I thought this of you. I had every reason to think it," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, pressing the hand he extended to her, "stay, there is Aveline; what could induce her to come out?" As she stood at the end of the narrow shaded avenue beckoning to them, the soft fluttering of her white dress, and the shadowy outline of her figure seemed like a dim foreboding of the fate which awaited her. Mr. Haveloc hastened to her side. "Are you coming to dinner, you two?" said she playfully, "I have no mind to be kept waiting, since I cannot begin my ride until that business is over." "And could you not have sent a servant to us," he said, "was it needful that you should tire yourself by coming out in the heat? I shall lock up the poney if you commit any imprudences. Take my arm, and keep in the shade." "You would make me out to be so very ill," said Aveline as she leaned on him. "I do not despair of having a good gallop on the poney yet. Oh! Mr. Haveloc, you have not told me his name. What is it?" "Hakon Jarl." "Delightful! Mamma, did you ever hear such a name? From Oehlenschläger's tragedy. He shall have some bread from our dinner table." And Aveline was as good as her word, and fed the poney from the window instead of eating her own dinner. CHAPTER VIII. _Ma._ Then you believe not, Arnold, in the stars?