Almost every family in the neighbourhood, whether rich or poor, called at the vicarage that day, impelled by friendship, curiosity, or pity, to inquire if any tidings of the lost balloon had reached the family of the Aumerles. No visitors, however, were admitted, as soon as it was ascertained that they had come to receive information, and not to give it. The sound of wheels, and of frequent rings at the gate, almost drove Annabella to distraction! Ida and her father spent much of the time together in fervent prayer, but the miserable Countess of Dashleigh seemed too restless—too wretched to pray! It was now the afternoon of one of the loveliest days in the loveliest of seasons. The soft tinkling of the distant sheep-bell, the low of the cattle in the meadow, and the monotonous hum of the bee, came softly blended together to the ear. The bright mantle of sunshine fell on fruit-trees laden with blossom,—the hawthorn white with May’s perfumed snow, the fragrant lilac, the laburnum dropping its showers of gold! Annabella gazed from the open casement of her apartment upon a lovely and varied prospect, but she had not the slightest perception of what lay directly before her eye. Another loud ring! The countess turned her head with quick impatience. A man was standing at the gate. Was there something in his manner that announced the eager bearer of tidings, or did the wife intuitively grasp the fact that he brought her news of her husband? Ida seemed to have had the same perception, for, with the breeze waving back her long dark tresses, she was at the gate almost before the tongue of the bell ceased to vibrate. Annabella saw her start, caught the uttered exclamation, and springing from her room, clearing the stairs almost at a bound, in less than a minute was at the side of her cousin. She was quickly followed by the vicar and Mrs. Aumerle, and every member of the household. A telegraphic message had arrived from Augustine; yes, there was the precious little leaf, which, like the touch of a magician’s wand, changed the face of everything around, and flooded the dry, haggard cheek of sorrow with a torrent of grateful tears. CLIFF COTTAGE, B——, DEVON. “Safe, thank God! I shall send M—— home to-morrow. I remain here with the earl, who is attacked by brain fever. I have telegraphed to Exeter for Dr. G—— and a nurse.—A. A.” “Brain fever!” exclaimed the countess with a gasp. “Temporary illness, I trust,—only temporary,” said the vicar, from whose heart the weight of a mountain seemed removed. “Augustine, thoughtful as he ever is, has already taken every human means to insure recovery.” “My Reginald shall be left to no nurse; no, no, none shall rob me of one privilege,” cried Annabella. “I will be at B—— beside him to-night.” “I will be your escort,” said Lawrence Aumerle. “Oh, take me too!” exclaimed Ida, her dark eyes swimming in tears at the thought of seeing her sister.