He was about to add something more; but his utterance became choked; and, again pressing her hand to his lips, while a tear fell on it, he turned abruptly away. Miss Manners said not a word--her heart was too full--but closed the gate behind her and disappeared. Jones listened. He heard her step as she went up the gravel walk, and he heard nothing more. The night was, by this time, fearfully dark, and everything around him was silent. He walked on a short distance, returned, and again walked on. His mind was whirling and confused. He tried to recollect every word which Miss Manners had said, and by this means to get at the real state of her feelings; but he was too much agitated for reflection. On gaining his lodging, he felt faint, and put himself immediately to bed. All night long he tossed about in sleepless excitement; and, in the morning, fell into a feverish doze, broken by unintelligible dreams. When he awoke, he rose up, and felt so giddy as to be unable to stand, and again went to bed. During the day, he felt shivering and unwell; and, the next day, the same symptoms continued, and with increased violence. Another day arrived--another, and another--and all consciousness left him. Several weeks elapsed, and found him still bedridden, but convalescent; and it was nearly three months before he was enabled to venture out, and then only when the sun was warm. "You have been long out, Marion," said Mr. Manners to his daughter, as she returned from her accidental interview with Jones. "I was afraid some accident had befallen you." "No," said Miss Manners, whose eyes were slightly inflamed; for, somehow or other, she had wept before entering the house: "no accident." "Child," said her father, "what has happened--you look ill!" Miss Manners told all--her meeting with Jones, and his passionate declaration; but, notwithstanding that her father conjured her not to think of him, she thought of him all night long. The news of Jones' illness spread rapidly through the village; but, as might be expected, excited little sympathy. With the exception of Mr. Manners and the surgeon of the village, no one looked near his abode; and many were the remarks made by the gossips, that few tears would be shed for him, and that he might bless heaven he was allowed to die in bed. From the manse, however, he received much attention. Anxious inquiries concerning the state of his health were made almost daily, accompanied, occasionally, with presents of wine and jellies. This afforded Jones delightful materials for reflection; and, while his health continued to improve, he occupied his mind with dreams of the future, which his better judgment told him were too bright ever to be realised.