He broke off hastily, and with a smile bade her good-bye, telling her to be sure to come very often. And she did, but Phil grew hourly weaker, and they feared that each day would be his last. He was very patient. They only knew that he was in pain by the flush on his face, the closed eyes and knitted brow. He rarely uttered a sound, never one of complaint; only sometimes a low cry of weariness would break from him. He gave up going out of doors entirely; he could not even bear to be carried in his father's arms. The village doctor who attended him said that at any moment the flickering breath of the boy's life might be extinguished. Every evening his father hurried home, dreading, yet expecting to hear that his boy was gone. But no, the light of Phil's life burned on, very feebly, almost imperceptibly at times, but still it burned. It was the last day of May. Phil was expecting Miss Crawford to pay him her farewell visit. She had not forgotten the boy's wistful eyes when he told her how he wished he could see her in her pretty wedding dress, and she resolved to gratify him, if he still desired it. She knew that it would be the last pleasure in her power to give him. So when she drove that afternoon to Chormouth, the box containing her wedding dress and veil went in the carriage with her. She passed into Phil's room, and after some conversation—which was cheerful in spite of their coming separation—she asked him if he still cared to see her in her bridal attire; for if he did, she said, it would be no trouble to put it on. He was delighted at the idea, and when she came from Millie's room in her beautiful dress of glistening satin and lace, the lovely picture that she made almost took his breath away. He gazed at her to his heart's content while she stood in the centre of the room, blushing a little, beneath the scrutinising glances of the brother and sister. She had never yet received the sketch that Phil had drawn for her. He begged Millie to fetch it now, and gave it to Miss Crawford "as a wedding gift with his dear love." "Dear Phil, thank you very much, I shall treasure it all my life long for your sake." "I shall think of you to-morrow," he said. "I shall have the window open and listen for the bells." "And I shall think of you, and pray for you. You must pray for me, too, that my future life may be blessed and happy." He smiled his answer. "Say good-bye to me in that dress, please, Miss Crawford," he continued, presently. "I should like always to keep you in my memory just as you are now. You are all white and shining, and you brighten the room like an angel of light. To think of you so will help me to bear my pain. I shall only have to close my eyes to see you again." Stooping down over the bed, and taking his hand in hers, she put back her long floating veil, and again kissed him, as she had done in the hospital ward months ago.