"Oh! Mr. Kyffin, I am unworthy of you, I feel that I have disgraced you, and Mabel, too; when she knows about me, she, too, will see that I am unworthy of her love. How can she ever have confidence in a man who has shown himself so weak, who has committed so many follies, and who has been so easily led astray by designing knaves? How could I for a moment have trusted such a person as that unhappy man Sleech? Why did I not at once perceive the aims of Parker, who, however, was a thousand times superior to the other fellow?" "My dear boy," said Mr. Kyffin, "`let bygones be bygones.' You have had a good deal of experience in life, and have paid dearly for it, and now I pray God that you may be restored to health and be wiser for the future." "I see no hope for life in me," answered Harry, "Mabel can never be mine." This was said as the fever was coming upon him before he broke down altogether. Mr. Kyffin saw that reasoning or expostulation under the circumstances would avail nothing. He did his best therefore merely to soothe the poor lad. From his heart he pitied him, and loved him more than ever. Mabel had returned to Lynderton with her father. She was not told of Harry's desperate illness. Indeed, she could not be permitted to see him for fear of catching the fever. She had fully expected that he would write, and perhaps she suffered more from being left in doubt than if she had been told the truth. At length, a fine constitution, under the doctor's care, by God's mercy brought him through. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to be moved, Mr. Kyffin was anxious to give him change of air. The cottage where he was born was vacant, and Mr. Kyffin begged his old friend Doctor Jessop to fit it up for him. "His native air, and the doctor who knows him so well, will afford him the best chance of perfect recovery," the kind man thought to himself, so he and Harry set forth towards Lynderton. Once more Harry took up his abode at the cottage where he first saw the light. He sat in the room with his old friend where his mother had died. A faint recollection of her came across him. He could even fancy he saw her slight figure as she sat in the porch watching his gambols on the lawn, or as she stood at the gate while he and the nursemaid set forth on their daily walk. The fresh autumn air soon restored vigour to his limbs and sent new life through his veins. Doctor Jessop prescribed frequent walks on the open downs above the cliffs. "All fear of infection will by that time be blown away," he observed. "For my part, I believe there has been no real danger since you left London. However, we cannot be too cautious in such matters." "And may I then see Mabel--Miss Everard?" he asked. The doctor smiled.