BUT those few quiet words meant a great deal to Nellie, and Wilmot felt they did, though he angrily refused to believe them. He allowed a whole month to elapse before he again went to see the Arundels, believing, in a kind of blind way, that Nellie would be all the more glad to welcome him. Poor little Nellie! At last he gave himself leave to go and see her again. He took a great deal of pains about this visit. He invited Maude up from Devonshire for a fortnight's stay in his bachelor lodgings, in order that he might have the excuse of her presence for more frequent visits than he could otherwise have proposed. The day before she was expected, Wilmot took himself with a somewhat beating heart to the house in the square, and full of pleasant anticipations, walked along planning the various excursions he would take Maude, and speculating in how many of these he could persuade Nellie to join. At last the steps of No. 8 were reached, and Wilmot walked up them, delighted to think that the time he had set himself was at last over. He knocked, and when a servant, a stranger to him, opened the door, he asked the usual question, "Is Dr. Arundel at home?" thinking that it did not very much matter what the answer might be. The answer, however, did matter a great deal to him; for the cook informed him that "the doctor and family were out of town; went yesterday morning." He could only leave his card, and turn away with such a sense of disappointment as he could not have believed possible. "It serves me right," he said to himself, as he walked gloomily homewards, "it serves me right; I was just a wretch to leave her in all her sorrow just out of 'pique.' Well, I am sorry, but that won't mend it." Meanwhile the days had passed but slowly to Nellie and the others, as days of bereavement do pass. Looking round on the household she was "mothering," she felt that the hot summer weather, added to their sorrow, was telling unfavourably upon little Tom, while Netta and Isabel looked pale and spiritless. One day, after all had gone to bed, and she and her father were left alone, she came over and knelt down by his side, laying her head on his shoulder. "Tired, my child?" he said lovingly, putting his arm round her. "N—o, dear papa," she answered sighing, "I have only been thinking." How deeply he sighed in his turn; but presently said, "Well, dear?" "I have thought Tom looks poorly, papa?" "Yes, dear, it is nor to be wondered at." "No; but you will not think I am restless if I say that, perhaps, a little change might help us all, dear papa, if it could be managed?" "You shall go by all means, my dears." "Not without you; oh, we could not." "Christina perhaps would go with you." "Oh, not that! But you, dear papa, want a change most of all; oh, you must go too, if we do." He seemed to be considering, and presently observed, "I was to have taken her, Nellie, just at this time." "I know," said Nellie, nestling her head closer to him.