"My poor love--my love!" he murmured, as he leaned upon the gate; and if ever man prayed fervently, that was a heartfelt prayer breathed from his lips, and it seemed, in his weak worn state, borne upwards by a winged messenger which rose from the field hard by, singing its morning song of joy and praise. He watched that lark as it rose higher and higher, its clear notes ringing far and wide, but growing gradually fainter and fainter, till the bird seemed lost to his gaze, as the song was to his ear. But as he watched the sky turned from its pale dawn, tinged with a warmer flush, to one glorious damask fret of orange and gold, lighting up the trees and flowers of his garden as he let his eyes fall to earth, and then, as they rested on the window, it was to see that it was blank and cold and grey. He could not stir, only stand gazing there with a horrible sinking feeling--a terrible dread, and though the sun rose slowly, his light seemed pale and sickly to the heart-stricken man, whose worst fears seemed confirmed when the door opened, and the heavy, burly figure of the doctor appeared, coming softly down the gravel-walk. "You here, Selwood!" he exclaimed. The vicar bowed his head. "You have been here all night?" "Yes, but tell me. I can bear it now. Does she sleep?" "Yes," said the doctor, pausing; and as he saw the weary head sink lower, he continued, "Yes, but not the sleep you mean. The crisis is past, dear friend, and Eve Pelly lives." It was one soft delicious afternoon, when the vicarage garden was aglow with flowers, mellow with sunshine, and joyous with the hum of the insect world, that in obedience to Eve's wish the vicar went down, to find her looking very thin and pale, but inexpressibly sweeter than she had ever seemed before, seated on the old rustic seat beneath the great hedge of mingled holly and yew. Daisy was with her as he entered the garden, but she went into the house, and Eve, with her colour returning slightly, held out one hand and pointed to the place at her side. He did not take the seat, however, but mastering his emotion, took the trembling hand between his and kissed it. "You wished to see me?" he said. "Yes," said Eve in a whisper; "to thank you for your great--great kindness to me. They tell me I have been here eight weeks. I have been asking Mr Purley whether I may not go home--to my aunt's--at least," she said, growing agitated, "somewhere--somewhere. I must not stay here." He had come meaning to be calm, to command himself, knowing that she was delicate and weak; but at those words, and the visions they conjured up, the restraint of months was broken down, and retaining her hand, he sat down beside her. "Do you wish to go away, Eve?" he said hoarsely, while his strong hand trembled like that he held. "I cannot trespass on you longer," she said; and then in a weary, helpless manner, "but I meant to go away--far from here."