Before this sudden illness fell upon her, Alison's health had been at a very low ebb, 'down many pegs too low,' as her father had said. She had lived in a series of excitements, joys, and sorrows of a feverish nature, the joy of meetings with Bevil, the sorrows of their separation; fears for her father's health, his debts and duns; she had to exert herself all day, yet lay all night awake; then came the rough voyage and the catastrophe which formed a part of it. Her delicate frame was being worn out, without the necessary supports of proper rest or proper food, and yet latterly she had been an inmate of one of the largest and most magnificent hotels in Antwerp. But she had great vitality about her, and now recovered fast. 'We must meet again--we shall meet again!' exclaimed Alison, as she kissed her namesake many times while bidding her adieu. 'How are we ever to meet,' said the Sister, smiling, 'unless you come to the Beguinage, as I never leave it?' 'Time will show,' said Alison. 'Yes,' replied the other, 'time and God will show.' Alison remembered these apparently prophetic words after she was at home, and Antwerp was far away, and her visit there seemed but as a dream; for three days after saw her and Sir Ranald in England. 'Ours is a nation of travellers,' says a writer, 'and no wonder, when the elements, air, water, fire, attend our bidding to transport us from shore to shore; when the ship rushes into the deep, her track the foam as of some mighty torrent, and in three hours or less we stand gazing or gazed at among a foreign people. None want an excuse. If rich they go to enjoy; if poor to retrench; if sick to recover; if studious to learn; if learned to relax from their studies.' None of these objects had brought Alison--the creature of circumstances, and of the plans formed by others--to Antwerp, and now that she was home again--or once again on British soil--the reader may imagine how anxiously she longed for some tidings of Bevil Goring (all unwitting that he had been so long near her, in the land of the stranger), whether he had gone to face the perils of war on the Gold Coast, or been detached at home; and the only one who could have speedily enlightened her thereon was the person to whom she dared not utter his name--Sir Ranald. So poor Alison could but sigh and think with L.E.L. that 'Earth were too like Heaven If length of life to love were given.' CHAPTER V. IN HAMPSHIRE AGAIN.