asked what time it was, and whose voice it was he heard downstairs.

"It is Essie, father," said Margie. "I was coming to tell you she had just arrived and is longing to see you. You have had quite a nice sleep, father dear." "I have," said Luke, thoughtfully. "And the oddest part is, I had such a curious dream. I thought that I saw my sister Rachel again, and that she came and sat down by the bedside, just where you are standing now, Margie. I spoke to her, and she said I was very ill, and that she had come to nurse me; and then she handed me a cup. It seemed so real, even now I can scarcely believe it was all a dream; but I suppose it must have been. It was a strange fancy, but I think it has done me good; the pain in my limbs is much better now, only I am still very tired."

"You must lie still, dear father, and I will send Essie upstairs to see you. Doctor Hockin will be here, too, very soon, I expect," said Margie, rather relieved to find he had forgotten the money-matters which had been worrying him so long, but afraid of agitating him if she let him talk of his dream.

She herself easily understood how the fancy had arisen in his brain. He had seen Mrs. Connor in the night, and at the sight of a strange face had imagined that this was his long-lost sister who had come back to him in his dreams.

CHAPTER XXV.

"And how blest the re-united

Blest, though every tear that falls,

Doth in its silence of past sorrow tell,

And makes a meeting seem most like a dear farewell."
WORDSWORTH.

UKE'S illness had reached its crisis on

the day following Miss Fairbairn's funeral, and from that time his recovery, although slow, was sure.

It was materially assisted by the news that his debt had been already discharged by a loan from an unexpected quarter.

One morning, as Margie was opening her father's letters, she was surprised to come across a receipt from the timber-merchant.

"I can't make this out, Harry," she said to her brother-in-law, who had decided to remain at King's Marden with Essie until Luke's convalescence should be assured. "I thought you had only paid

part of the bill, and here is the receipt for it in full -One hundred and sixty-four pounds, twelve shillings. What does that mean?"

She handed the paper to Harry, who took it rather awkwardly, and, seeing Margie expected an answer, replied with evident hesitation—

"Well, if you want to know, the fact is—I don't believe I was meant to tell you; but I did hear— at least, he told me himself that he should set it straight, and I could tell your father not to trouble any more about that or the money I got in Wyndover."

"Who was it?" asked Margie, with a swift delicious hope that it might be Cornelius, who, on hearing of her father's difficulties, had taken this generous means of helping him.

But the light died out of her face again as suddenly, when Harry said, "It was Mr. Norman."

"I might have guessed," she said gently. "It was quite like him to do a thing of that sort."

'He said Miss Fairbairn had left him more money than he knew how to spend," continued Harry, "and that she would have been the first to help. your father, had she known he wanted money."

"I am glad for father's sake; we must tell him." That was all Margie said, but in her secret heart she was half vexed to find it was the schoolmaster who was their benefactor. For the second time

U

she felt that she owed him more than could ever be repaid, and knew besides that he would not even accept the thanks which was all she had to give.

Her father's satisfaction was the best part. Luke received the news with unmeasured satisfaction, less from a sense that the burden which oppressed him was lifted, than from the knowledge that he had at least one friend in Marden who had not failed him, but had proved steadfast in his hour of need.

"Of course he shall have the money, child," he said to Margie, with a happier look on his face than she had seen for long. "Once I am well again, it will be easy enough to scrape it together; but what I shall always be thankful for is the goodwill. A friend of his sort is worth having."

A few days afterwards, when he was able to come downstairs, and Harry and Essie had returned to their own home, Luke remembered another neighbour who had proved a true friend to him and Margie. This was Mrs. Connor, of whose devotion Margie had told him, and whom he expressed a strong wish to see.

"It was a great deal to do for a stranger, Margie," he said; "and although I've often heard you speak of her, I've scarcely set eyes on her myself, and don't know that I've ever spoken half a dozen words to her. I wish you could get her to look in some afternoon."

Margie replied that she would do her best; but since her father had left his bed, Mrs. Connor had not once been inside the house, and she knew how difficult it was to induce her to make a new acquaintance.

That very evening she walked round to Ivy Cottage, and told Mrs. Connor of her father's request.

At first Mrs. Connor seemed a little troubled, and Margie, seeing her reluctance, endeavoured to overcome it as best as she could.

"You see, dear Mrs. Connor," she said, persuasively, "I can never forget how good you have been to me, and father has heard so much about you, that he naturally wishes to see you. Besides which, he fancied that on the night you sat up with him he saw his only sister, our Aunt Rachel, whom he loved so much, who went away long ago and died in America, I think. So that has helped. to make him wish to know you, I think. At first I was frightened when he told me so, and was afraid it meant he was going to die; but now that he is so much better, I think it does him good to talk of old days."

Mrs. Connor was silent for a few minutes, and when she spoke again her voice became very tremulous.

"That aunt of yours, Margie, my child," she