"There's no great hurry, you know," said Phil, "but somehow I feel that I shall never be any better. I shall gradually get worse and worse. Don't cry, dear—" for Millie could no longer control her tears. "I am very happy. I am not afraid to die. I would rather it should be so. Remember, if I lived, I should be a helpless, suffering invalid, a burden upon you all. It's far better as it is." He stroked her hair lovingly, calling her by the many pet names he had for her, and he would not let her go till she had smiled again. Millie's letter went that night, and by a singular coincidence she received one from Miss Crawford the very next morning. It contained wonderful news. Millie could hardly believe her eyes as she read it. Miss Crawford said that her brother had again been seriously ill, that she herself was far from well, and that her father, hoping the change would benefit both his son and daughter, had decided to rent a house in the country for a few months. Hearing in a most unexpected manner of a villa to be let near Chormouth, they had, taken it, and soon, she told Millie, she might expect to see her. How delighted Millie was, to be sure! But though Phil said little, his joy was deeper than his sister's. With Miss Crawford's presence, Phil's last desire was gratified. The house that Mr. Crawford had taken was about a couple of miles from Chormouth, but she drove over nearly every day to see the dying boy—for that he was gradually, but surely, dying was now apparent to all. On one occasion she told him that she was engaged to be married to Dr. Bethune. "I am very glad, Miss Crawford," he said simply. "I thought so all along." "Did you, Phil?" she replied. "I thought it would be a great surprise to you." "Shall you be married soon?" he asked. "Yes, very soon now," she said; "that is why I told you about it. If all be well, I shall be married on the first of June. Only one thing will grieve me," she added fondly, "and that is, that after my wedding I shall not be able to visit you. We shall live in London then." "I am glad of that," Phil said heartily. "The people are so poor and so miserable there, and you will make some of them happier, I know. They want somebody to help them. What should I have done without you, I wonder!" "Dear Phil, I have done very little for you," she replied, with tears in her eyes. "We will do more for others if it please God to give us the means and the health." When she rose to wish him good-bye, she said: "I shall come oftener than ever to see you now that I shall so soon be leaving you." "It's a long time yet before the first of June," he remarked. "You'll be married in London, I suppose, Miss Crawford?" "No, down here in the country. If you tried hard, you might be able to hear my wedding bells." "I should like to see you in your pretty dress," he said wistfully, "but I'm afraid I shan't be well enough to get so far as the church if I tried ever so. Perhaps by that time—"