"Only say you forgive me, Cornelius; only speak to me once," were the broken words which in their heartrending accents caught Andrew Norman's ear as he watched at the open door.

And the might of that love seemed to have power to call him back even from the gates of death.

Cornelius had heard her voice, and at its call his eyelids quivered and unclosed. He made an attempt to speak, and Margie thought she caught the sound of her name.

"Yes, dear, I am here close by you," Norman heard her say. "Don't try to talk; it is all right

now."

Cornelius had already closed his eyes again, but he seemed to understand; and a look of peace came back into Margie's face, as she bent over him with beautiful tenderness, and pushed back the damp hair which lay in clusters on his forehead.

She was satisfied now; and when five minutes afterwards Doctor Hockin appeared, she allowed Norman to lead her away into the next room, where she waited till his examination was ended.

The schoolmaster himself came to tell her the medical report, which was better than Norman himself had dared to expect. The wound was a deep one, but no vital part had been injured, as far as Doctor Hockin could tell, and the patient's insensibility was a natural result of the blood he had

lost.

Perfect rest and quiet was the one thing necessary, and with this the doctor saw no reason to fear any danger, although of course for a few days it was impossible to tell, and recovery might prove tedious.

Margie breathed a sigh of relief as Norman ended.

"Thank you," she said in a low voice. "I mind nothing now."

In few minutes she rose and said she would go home. A West Marden woman who nursed Doctor Hockin's cases had already arrived, and under the circumstances the best thing for Margie was to leave, since no immediate danger was feared.

Andrew himself was about to return home, and did not leave Margie till he had seen her safely to her own door.

They walked there in silence, with hearts too full to speak. Only as the schoolmaster left her he said, "I shall be up at the Manor-house early to-morrow, and will take care to let you have the last accounts."

She tried to thank him, but the words would not come, only her eyes sought his with a look which was worth more to him than any speeches.

It was long before sleep came to Andrew Norman that night, tired as he well might be after all the exertions and excitement of the day. He would

never be able to forget that scene he had witnessed in the panelled room of the old Manor-house. Margie's passionate cry would haunt him till his dying day. More than ever he felt sure how well he loved her, while at the same time he knew now that her whole heart was given to Cornelius, and that his own dreams could never be realized.

In that hour he gave up his heart's desire more completely than ever before; yet it was impossible that the thought should not have crossed his mind, how gladly he would have changed places with Cornelius, and known himself wounded, perhaps mortally, if only the same words could have been whispered in his ears as he lay on his dying bed.

CHAPTER XX.

"Like a daisy I was near him growing;
Must I move because favours flag,
And be like a brown wall-flower blowing
Far out of reach in a crag?

Lift! O lift thou lowering sky:
An thou canst, thy blue regain;

An thou canst not, he and I

Need not part for drops of rain.”

JEAN INGELOW.

OR several days after his accident, Cornelius Maynard lay in a half-insensible state, dimly aware of strange faces and

confused voices around him. A degree of fever had come on, and it was some time before he recovered his full consciousness and understood what had happened to him.

At last one afternoon he raised himself on his sound arm, and looking round the room saw Molly sitting in the window sewing, while the nurse was lying down.

"Molly," he said, "is that you? I have been asleep some time, haven't I?"

"That you have, sir?" replied Molly, quite relieved at hearing herself accosted in natural tones again. "Three hours or more, I should say; but nurse says it's just the best thing you could do." "Has any one besides you been in the room?" asked Cornelius.

"Not as I know of," replied Molly.

"Let me see," said Cornelius, trying to put some order into his confused thoughts. "I thought some one else was here-the schoolmaster, surely, wasn't he?"

"Bless you, sir," returned Molly, with a broad grin on her face, "that was three or four days ago." "But he was here," insisted Cornelius, with a touch of impatience in his tones. "I am sure I heard him speaking to some one."

"Doctor Hockin, I dare say," said been up most days to ask after you.

Molly; "he's
But that was

natural, seeing it was him as brought you home the day of the accident."

"He brought me home, did he?" repeated Cornelius slowly, as the recollection of what had happened to him began to dawn on his mind. "Yes, I remember now. I saw him in the lane, at the gate, just before I climbed that unlucky stile;" and his head sank wearily back on the pillow