Further converse was cut short by the entrance of Mrs Jenkles, who beckoned their visitor to come, and he followed her upstairs to the neat little front room, where a pang shot through Richard as he saw the change. Netta was half lying on a couch, propped up by pillows, and beside her, on a table, were the two plants he had sent across, evidently carefully tended,--not a withered leaf to be seen amongst their luxuriant foliage, while she who had made them her care lay there, white, shrunken, and so changed. There was a bright smile of pleasure flickering about her lips, and a ray of gladness flashing from her eyes, as she held out her hands to him--hands that he caught in his and kissed, as he sank on his knees by her side. "My poor girl!" he exclaimed, huskily, "is it so bad as this?" "I'm so glad you are come," she whispered; and then she lay gazing at him, as if her very soul were passing from her eyes to his. "I've longed and prayed so for this. I thought once that it wasn't to be-- that I was never to see you again; but I'm better now." "Better--yes; and you'll soon grow strong and well again." "Do you think so?" she said, looking at him wistfully, while an incredulous smile was upon her lips. "But don't let's talk of that. Sit down by me, where I can see you--I've so much to say." He drew a chair to her side, and, as he did so, he saw that they were alone, for Mrs Lane had gone out softly directly he had entered. Then sitting down, the note which he had received fell from his pocket, and lay half beneath the couch. "You are not angry with me for sending for you?" said the girl, piteously. "Why do you frown?" "Did I frown?" he said, gently. "It was only a passing thought. There, now, let's have a quiet, long chat." "Yes," she said, eagerly. "I want to thank you for being so kind to us--for the fruit and flowers, and all you have done for mamma. As for me," she continued, laying her hand in his, "I shall be so ungrateful." "No, no, I cannot believe that." "Yes," she said, smiling, "you have done so much to make me well, and in return I shall die." "My dear child, you must not talk like this," exclaimed Richard, with an involuntary shiver. "You must get well and strong again." She shook her head sadly, and then lay gazing up into his eyes. "Netta," he said, gently, "you have thought a great deal about me since you have been ill." "Yes--oh yes," she said. "Looking back, then, do you blame me--do you think I was cruel, and led you on to think I loved you?" "No," she said, and her hand closed almost convulsively on his. "I don't think so now. I have thought it all over, and it was my folly and weakness. I seem to have grown old since then, and to have become so much wiser. That's all past now; but I want you to tell me, first, that you did not think me forward then, and strange." "My child," said Richard, "I have felt that the blame has been on my side, and it has caused me many a pang."