"Why not wait for to-morrow?" returned Althea, quietly. "You are so impetuous, Moritz. There is no need for you to see Dr. Duncan to-night. Poor dear Mollie is very ill--I have just seen her; but good nursing and the proper remedies may do wonders. Wait until to-morrow--it will be far better; and tell me what has become of Noel." "He is up in his room putting up his things. I am going to take him round to Eaton Square directly. I shall stay there myself for the next week or two. And you really saw her, Althea? Is she--does she look very bad?" Moritz's anxiety was so intense he could hardly bring out the words. "She is evidently in great pain," she returned, slowly. "It is impossible to judge at this stage. But she was able to speak to me. Moritz, she asked me to give you this; it was put away in a drawer, and she told me where to find it!" and Althea handed him the little white parcel. "For me! are you sure it is for me?" he asked, breathlessly. But Althea, with a faint smile, only pointed to the direction, for, in Mollie's sprawling handwriting, was very lightly inscribed: "Mr. Ingram, with Mollie Ward's good wishes." Nothing could be more correct or proper. Then why did Lord Ralston's eyes brighten so strangely, and why did a sudden smile of tender amusement come to his lips? Because his keen scrutiny had detected something that Althea had not perceived--two half-obliterated letters before the "good": "lo"--he could make that out plainly. "With Mollie Ward's love"--that was what she had meant to write, until her maidenly scruples, and perhaps some sudden self-consciousness, induced her to change the inscription. Moritz walked off into the inner room with his treasure. Would Mollie guess how her lover's heart beat almost to suffocation as he looked at the white vellum book with its clustering pansies? "Little darling," he kept saying over and over to himself, "she must have known they were my favourite flowers." And then he looked at the first page and saw his name prettily illuminated. "Pansies, that's for thoughts," was the motto under it; and one or two pansies were drooping loosely underneath. It was a dainty remembrance. Mollie had evidently not spared either time or thought for her friend. It was to be a token of her gratitude for all the pleasure Monsieur Blackie had given her, and for all his lavish gifts. But even Mollie could not guess, in the faintest degree, the intense joy that pansy pocket-book gave Ingram.