occurrence had never happened to him before, and as yet he could neither understand nor believe it.

He took off his hat in the hall, and passed his handkerchief several times over his bald head; but when he would have stopped to interrogate Willson, she shook her head, and, with an impatient gesture, signified her wish that he should proceed at once to Mrs. Seymour's apartment.

The housekeeper was gently closing the door preparatory to following them, when she suddenly remembered Browning, who was standing at her side hesitating and irresolute.

"You had better come too," she remarked in a suppressed tone: "you can wait in one of the ante-rooms until we hear what Dr. Leslie's opinion is-it is just possible, you know, that we may want your help."

"Have you seen her?" he eagerly inquired.

"Not yet; but I will soon let you know how things are going on -meantime, don't on any account stir out of this room.' Thus saying, she joined Willson and Dr. Leslie in her mistress's chamber. "Very extraordinary," she heard the doctor murmur to himself as he bent over a table, and proceeded, with an air of grave and solemn importance, to pour a few drops of some ruby-coloured fluid into a wine-glass.

"Here, Mrs. Willson, give her this," he added, putting the vessel into her hand; "and while you are doing so I will speak to Mrs. Morby in another room."

"What is your opinion, doctor?" was the housekeeper's first concerned question, as soon as she found herself out of the precincts of the sick-room; "do you consider

"Bring me pen and paper," exclaimed the little doctor, cutting her short.

Mrs. Morby rather sullenly obeyed.

"Now, then, where is that fellow?" said the gentleman, in a quick, decided voice. "I mean the man who brought me here," he explained, with an impatient contraction of his smooth brow, on perceiving that Mrs. Morby, instead of answering him, merely stared at him with an expression of stupid amazement.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir," she replied, recovering her usual composed manner; "I thought it probable you might want him, and therefore I fortunately took the precaution of

"All right," interrupted the doctor, hastily scrawling a few lines upon a sheet of paper; "let him come here at once, if you please. Now, my man" this to Browning--" there is at present in London a very celebrated physician

"Just so, sir," said the quick-witted valet, instantly jumping at the right conclusion; "and you want to send him a message."

"Exactly," responded Dr. Leslie, nodding his head in token of approbation; "will you undertake to go with it to Dilton ?"

"Certainly," was the prompt reply.

Remember," continued the doctor, giving him the note, "it is of the utmost consequence that this telegram should be sent off immediately; if no time is lost, he will be able to come by the express train which leaves London

"You may depend on me, sir," exclaimed Browning, who was evidently anxious to set out.

"I don't doubt it, judging from the efficient manner in which you performed the charge committed to you by Mrs. Willson," replied the gentleman, with a little smile and shrug of the shoulders.

"Won't you tell me something about the poor lady?" asked Browning, coming back for a moment, and laying his hand entreatingly upon the doctor's arm; 66 is she likely to recover?"

"She seems marvellously well just now," said the latter, kindly, "and that is all I can say. Whether she will ever be restored to her former health greatly depends upon circumstances."

"Circumstances!" repeated Browning, as he mused on this equianswer; "what circumstances, I wonder?"

vocal

But being unable to solve the difficulty, he had to content himself with knowing that although the future was still hidden in obscurity, Mrs. Seymour's present condition was at least satisfactory.

Until the arrival of the London physician, Dr. Leslie never left his patient's bedside for a single moment. He quite won Willson's esteem by the extreme solicitude and concern he manifested, and the earnest and attentive interest with which he watched the invalid's progress towards perfect consciousness, and assisted nature's efforts to shake off the remains of the deadly stupor which had for so long a time held its mysterious and undisputed sway over her fragile frame.

Gradually the household awoke, and sounds of life and activity began once more to pervade the mansion.

Thanks to Mrs. Morby's "good management," none of the servants suspected what had occurred. She intended to choose her own time for making the disciosure, and until that time came, she maintained the keenest vigilance, and sharp, lynx-eyed observance of everything that transpired in the establishment, for the purpose of forcing the several members to perform their usual duties with more than their usual speed and quietness.

As soon as Browning returned from Dilton, he was despatched with a note to Sir George Hastings, requesting him to call at the Park without delay. This he did, and the housekeeper had an interview with him in the dining-room, in which she explained the necessity there was for him to countermand the orders he had issued respecting the funeral.

Right gladly did the worthy baronet undertake this pleasant though difficult office; and fervently he hoped that the recovery might indeed prove a permanent one.

At last the hour for the early express train to reach Dilton arrived. Mr. Seymour's carriage was waiting at the station; and the indefatigable Browning, who had volunteered to accompany the coachman, could scarcely restrain his impatience, as he watched for the first intimation of its approach.

Presently it came, and he walked restlessly up and down, gazing with intense eagerness, first into one carriage, and then into another, to see whether the gentleman they were in quest of had obeyed Dr. Leslie's summons. But he saw no one bearing the least resemblance to the person pictured in his imagination, and was turning away with a sickening feeling of disappointment, when a gentleman occupying a comfortable position in one of the compartments of a first-class carriage (much too calm and self-possessed to be come on such an errand, Browning thought) slowly rose from his seat, and after

deliberately folding up the newspaper he had been reading, and conveying it to the pocket of his coat, he quietly and cautiously stepped down upon the platform.

There he stood for a few seconds, composedly looking after the train, as it passed out of sight. He seemed so very unlike a man in haste; so cool and leisurely in all he did, so thoroughly and completely at home, that Browning hesitated to accost him.

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However, it was no time for ceremony, so going up to him, the valet civilly inquired whether he was on his way to Mertonsville Park. Ah, yes," replied the stranger, turning round without the slightest movement of surprise; "you have a conveyance here, I presume?" "Certainly, sir," returned Browning, overjoyed to find that his fears were not verified, though he was by no means pleased with the new-comer's apparent indifference. "This way, if you please, sir." "There's no use in hurrying on in that fashion," exclaimed the celebrated physician, as he vainly tried to keep up with Browning's long strides; "I never yet knew a patient whose life was saved by such furious haste."

"But perhaps" began Browning, rather indignantly; and then he stopped, as if conscious that he had no right to venture an opinion. "Ah!" returned the doctor, laughing, "your look insinuates that you are inclined to suspect me of having lost some by my tardiness! Not a bad idea, upon my word!" he muttered, with a sort of goodnatured chuckle, on getting into the carriage.

"I'm thankful it doesn't depend upon himself what time he reaches the Park," soliloquised Browning, clambering up to his old position beside the coachman.

"Who is he?" asked the latter, fully expecting to hear that it was one of Mr. Seymour's relations come for the purpose of attending the funeral. "I never remember seeing him before."

This question was too much for the social and excitable Browning. He had faithfully promised Mrs. Morby that he would not speak on the subject without her permission; and so far he had kept his word, although it cost him a great effort to do so. Now, however, his lips were unsealed, and he recounted to the awe-stricken coachman all that he himself knew regarding the wonderful change which had taken place in their mistress's condition.

It almost seemed to Willson as if the deliberations of the two doctors would never come to an end, so indescribable was her anxiety to know the result.

Their final opinion, when announced, though couched in very guarded language, was such as to fill her heart with unutterable thanksgiving and joy.

In the midst of her own deep happiness, she was not unmindful of Mr. Seymour, in token of which she went to Dr. Leslie directly the consulting physician had left them, and earnestly besought him to lose no time in carrying the good news to the sorrowing husband.

But for some reason or other, the doctor was decidedly averse to encountering Mr. Seymour just then; and Willson soon found that if it was to be done at all, she must be the doer of it.

Accordingly, she left the sick room in charge of Mrs. Morby, and, having gone and given a gentle knock at the library door, waited with a fluttering heart for the permission to enter.

CHAPTER LXX.

CONQUERED AT LAST.

"Over all things brooding slept

The quiet sense of something lost."

"Do not spurn me

In my prayer.

TENNYSON.

For this wandering, ever longer, evermore,

Hath overworn me;

And I know not on what shore

I may rest from my despair."

"Oft a speedier pain the guilty feels,

E. B. BROWNING.

The hue and cry of heaven pursues him at his heels."

DRYDEN.

AND Mr. Seymour! what of him? How was he occupied all these hours? Did no sound penetrate into his retirement, and awaken his curiosity? Were the hurried footsteps passing and repassing his library, the muffled voices, and the opening and shutting of doors, quite unheeded. Ah, yes! he was deaf to all.

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He had left his wife's chamber, after gazing at her as he supposed for the last time, with Willson's bitter cry resounding in his ears: My gentle, broken-hearted mistress!" and try as he would, he could not shake off the impression these words had produced on him, or divest himself of a sense of the keenest and most depressing compunction and regret.

All his habitual pride and self-esteem seemed to have deserted him; and as he paced the room with hurried, uneven steps, his wild, haggard looks, and the deep lines of agony traced upon his once haughty countenance, plainly evidenced the distracted state of his agitated mind.

It was in vain that he struggled to forget the past. He did not succeed. And the fact of every remembrance being linked with some separate memento of his suffering wife, rendered his reminiscences all the more unendurable.

He thought of the loveless and cheerless life she had of late been leading a mother deprived of her only child, and refused even the slight alleviation of hearing of his welfare.

Again, the expression of acute despair which he had so often and so calmly witnessed passing over her sweet face, haunted him like some gloomy vision of the night-her impotent, though desperate efforts to free herself from his tyranny, and assert her own independence of action-the unequal combat between strength and weakness-tears, entreaties, and passionate yearnings, versus a "waterproof," pitiless, and resolute will. He retraced it in imagination step, by step, until he almost loathed himself for the harsh measures he had taken.

Another bitter ingredient was added to his cup by the knowledge

acquired now for the first time, that he had unconsciously but surely alienated Mrs. Seymour's affection from himself. In confirmation of which numerous circumstances, apparently trivial in themselves, and which he had at the time, in his unbounded pride and egotism, never dreamt of analysing, rose vividly and with startling clearness before his enlightened vision in this period of self-abasement.

He recollected a thousand instances wherein she had appeared to shrink from him with palpable indifference, if not aversion, and when he reflected upon the air of formal reserve with which she treated him, her often averted looks, and the cold and guarded language she uniformly addressed to him, he wondered at his previous blindness and infatuation in not ascribing it to its true cause.

But this was only the beginning. Gradually he found the tide of thought so overwhelming and so distressing; the prickings of conscience so poignant and severe; the arrows of remorse attended by such excruciating torture, that he wiped his damp brow, and gazed helplessly around him, as if vainly seeking for some mode of escape.

"I must do something," he said at last, and his voice was very faint and quivering; "nothing but work will break this terrible spell."

As he uttered these words, his wandering eye lighted upon a note which Sir George Hastings had sent him in the morning, earnestly requesting that he would himself write an answer to an important communication he had just received from one of the gentlemen invited to attend the funeral.

Still, this was only a continuation of the same melancholy subject, and Mr. Seymour felt sorely tempted to decline undertaking so painful a duty. However, the urgency of the case, and the shortness of time that yet remained before the completion of the sad and solemn ceremonial, finally decided him.

"It will be too late, unless done at once," he murmured, with a heavy sigh; and, mechanically going to his desk, he unfastened it, dipped his pen in the ink, and prepared to write.

But, to his surprise and annoyance, there was not a single sheet of black-edged paper in his desk. Pushing it impatiently aside, therefore, he threw down his pen, and dragged himself to a distant writingtable, in a deep drawer of which he was accustomed to keep an assortment of paper, and other writing materials. Here he found what he sought; but, as it happened to be at the very bottom of the drawer, he was obliged to throw out nearly all its contents before he could lay hold of it.

Among the rest he observed the plan of the tower, which he had been looking over with Sir William Crossley at the moment of Mrs. Seymour's first attack of illness.

It had been hastily rolled up, and thrown with such carelessness into the drawer, that it was very much crushed and torn, and seemed almost useless.

In replacing it, Mr. Seymour, who was the soul of tidiness, unconsciously began to refold it, when a crumpled newspaper fell from within.

Straightway the thought occurred to his mind that this must be the very newspaper his wife had been reading, and which Dr. Leslie seemed so anxious to obtain !

He took it into his hands with a sort of awe (for was it not one of