"No," said Neil; "only to visit us now and then. You could not exist healthily away from your gardens and your farm. Besides, Isabel and Saxa." "And your grandchildren," said Lady Cicely. "There again," the old man cried testily, "that's the worst of you two: you are always right. Is a man never to have his own way here?" "Never, father," said Neil, taking his wife's hand. "Nature says it is not to be done." "And somehow, my boy, in spite of all our planning, and vexation at being thwarted," said the old man, almost in a deprecating way, "things do happen for the best." "That has long been my faith, father, which means my dear wife's too." "Yes, my boy, and mine too, now at last. Here, hi! Ralph, you young rascal, come and push grandpa's chair." Alison's curly-headed little fellow came scampering up, to begin batting hard behind the light wheeled chair in which the old man sat; and as Neil and his wife saw the old man's glee, there was a faint touch of sorrow in the husband's heart, as he thought that it might have been his son who was sturdily pushing along the old man's chair. He turned and looked half shrinkingly at his wife, as he saw that her deep eyes were fixed on his, and the next moment he knew that she could read the very secrets of his heart. For she laid her hand on his, and said softly: "Our children are waiting yonder, Neil, under the black clouds of the great city--our children, love--the poor, the suffering, and the weak, waiting, waiting for the healing touch of my dear husband's hand." "And for their pillows to be smoothed by their tender nurse--true woman--dearest wife." The End. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Nurse Elisia, by George Manville Fenn