“You know not the extent of my loss, Mr. Vivian,” he said, almost sharply, “you cannot, therefore, measure the depth of my grief.” Then, addressing his daughter, he said--“Ah! my child, I am to blame that I did not confide to you the true value of that document which I charged you to guard with your life. Had I done so you would”---- “I have saved that packet,” cried Flora, eagerly interrupting him. “I returned for it at the last moment, and I should have died when I secured it, had not Mr. Vivian risked his life to follow me, and bear me through flame and smoke to a place of safety.” She turned a soft glance upon Hal as she said this, which made his heart leap again. Old Wilton stood speechless, staring upon her as if distraught while she spoke. As she concluded, he said, in a hoarse whisper-- “Where is it? where is it?” She drew from beneath her mantle a small packet, and handed it to him. He clutched it with trembling fingers. He ran his eye eagerly over it, though it shook in his hands, so that to decipher a word of that which was written in endorsement upon it seemed impossible. His breath went and came in short convulsive sobs. “It is the same!” he murmured; “it is the same! Saved!--saved! My Flo’, saved!” The last words sounded feebly, and he staggered as if he was about to fall. Hal rushed forward and caught him in his arms. The emotion had been too much for him, and he had fallen into a swoon. Hal laid him tenderly on his bed, and unloosed his neckcloth, while Flora, procuring some water from a brown pitcher, which stood in a corner of the apartment, bathed his temples and his lips with it. After some anxious moments, spent in the endeavour to restore him, he heaved a deep sigh, and opened his eyes. They fell upon his daughter’s face close to his own. Her soft arm was his pillow, and her gentle hand wiped the clammy dew from his forehead. “Are you better, dearest father?” she asked, in low tones. “Better! better!” he ejaculated, “Well! happy! saved!” He pressed her cheek to his, and they mingled their tears together. Hal knew they had much to say to each other, private matters to communicate, the past to speak about, and the future to arrange. In such communion, he felt that he would only be an intruder, and he availed himself of the situation to say-- “You would gladly be alone with your father, Miss Wilton. You have much to talk over of importance which my presence would render embarrassing to both. I feel a curiosity to watch the proceedings below. I will return for you in an hour.” He did not wait for the answer, but quitted the room, closing the door after him. “Oh! good and generous youth,” exclaimed old Wilton, gazing after him, “would that all the world were like him!” Flora echoed the sentiment, but in silence. Perhaps, too, she had her thoughts concerning him; or why did her full lid droop as the sound of his descending footstep gradually lost itself in the echoes of the vaulted passages.