He remembered little more, except by snatches; an unknown face--probably the doctor’s--looking exceedingly grave, bending over him; then Daniells’ usually jovial countenance with all the lines drooping and the colour blanched out of it, and a sound of low voices talking something over, of which he could only make out the words “Telegraph at once;” then, “Too late! It must not be too late. She must come at once.” He wondered vaguely who this was, and why there should be such a hurry. And then, all at once, it seemed to him that it was daylight and his wife was standing by his bedside. He had just woke up from what seemed a very long, confused, and feverish night--how long he never knew. But when he woke everything was clear to him. Unless, by the grace of God, something were to happen---- Something was about to happen, by the grace of God. “Mary!” he cried, with a flush of joy. “You here!” “Of course, my dearest,” she said, with a cheerful look, “as soon as I heard there had been an accident.” He took her hand between his and drew her to him. “This was all I wanted,” he said. “God is very good; He gives me everything.” “Oh, Edward!” This pitiful protest, remonstrance, appeal to heaven and earth--for all these were in her cry--came from her unawares. “Yes,” he said, “my dear, everything has happened as I desired. I understand it all now. I thought I was not hurt; now I see. I am not hurt, I am killed, like the boy--don’t you remember?--in Browning’s ballad. Don’t be shocked, dear. Why shouldn’t I be cheerful? I am not--sorry.” “Oh, Edward!” she cried again, the passion of her trouble exasperated by his composure; “not to leave--us all?” He held her hand between his, smiling at her. “It was what I wanted,” he said--“not to leave you; but don’t you believe, my darling, there must be something about that leaving which is not so dreadful, which is made easy to the man who goes away? Certainly, I don’t want to leave you; but it’s so much for your good--for the children’s good----” “Oh, never, Edward, never!” “Yes; it’s new to you, but I’ve been thinking about it a long time--so much that I once thought it would almost have been worth the while, but for the insurances, to have----” “Edward!” She looked at him with an agonised cry. “No, dear--nothing of the kind. I never would, I never could have done it. It would have been contrary to nature. The accident--was without any will or action of mine. By the grace of God----” “Edward, Edward! Oh, don’t say that; by His hand, heavy, heavy upon us!” “It is you that should not say that, Mary. If you only knew, my dear. I want you to understand so long as I am here to tell you----” “He must not talk so much,” said the voice of the doctor behind; “his strength must be husbanded. Mrs. Sandford, you must not allow him to exhaust himself.”