such a luxury; but on the table over between them stood a curious little machine, that held in something like a pair of nippers, a rush that had been soaked in common household grease. When one rush burnt out, which it did in very few minutes, Elias would take another from a little bundle that lay close at his hand, light it and insert it in the place of the burnt one. He managed this so dexterously that Hirell never had to stop the rapid movement of her needles for the want of light.

As the rain beat on the long low window, Elias raised his head with a troubled look. "Are you sure, Hirell," he asked, "that Mr. Rymer is not in his room?"

"Quite," she answered, "the door is open. You can see right in as you pass."

66

Surely he must have sought some shelter."

"I hope so," said Hirell.

"Is that the passage door? Yes-listen -I think he has come in," said Elias.

They listened, heard footsteps, a loud exclamation from Nanny, and then a faint shivering voice cry,

"My God! No fire ?"

"Oh, father, go," said Hirell, "he is very ill."

Elias rose and went quickly to the outer kitchen. The rush burnt down to the end, and Hirell, neglecting to light another, was left in darkness.

She went a few yards towards the open door, and stood still listening.

She heard Elias cross the kitchen and pause. Then she heard his voice speaking clearly and sharply,

"Go, Sir, to your room and take off these wet things. I will come myself and light you a fire."

"I cannot-I cannot move," replied the faint shuddering voice. "Let me be still. Leave me to myself."

"I shall not," said Elias with increasing sternness. "I have left you to yourself too long. You are killing yourself, and you know it. I will no more permit you to trifle with your own life in this house, than I would with another's."

Then Hirell heard her father's footsteps

coming back quickly, and in a minute he met her where she stood.

"Give me a light, Hirell, in the lantern. I must saddle Gwen and go to Tan-y-Llyn for Dr. Robarts."

"Is he very ill then, father?"

"I never saw anyone look worse-quick, Hirell-send Nanny out to help me."

She got them the lantern, and then stood alone in the great dark kitchen, watching the pale gleams of light across the window as her father and Nanny moved about the yard, and in and out of the stable and harness shed.

In a few minutes she heard Gwen's quick, sure-footed trot on the wet road, and Nanny running beside it to open the gate.

Then Nanny came back and fell to chopping wood in one of the sheds, in order to fulfil her master's instructions to light a large fire in the lodger's room.

Meanwhile Hirell had heard several times something like a moan, and a sound as of teeth knocking together, which filled her with apprehensions.

Could she do nothing? she asked herself,

feeling very helpless and very impatient at her helplessness.

Soon Nanny came in where he was with her bundle of sticks, and the next moment she heard her drop them, and cry sharply"Miss Hirell! Miss Hirell !"

Hirell was standing in the middle of the outer kitchen before Nanny had picked up her lantern.

Her steps had been swift and unhesitating as the impulse of pity and alarm, which the girl's cry had awakened in her heart, towards the miserable stranger.

She saw a form huddled together at the end of the long oak-seat near the chimney; and looked from it to Nanny, asking under her breath:

Nanny only pointed towards the bent form, and made a gesture of fright and perplexity.

The truth was, that Rymer had tried to rise, and had been seized with pain and stiffness, and thrown himself back with a moan of impatience and despair.

Hirell stood bewildered. What was she to do?

She was not at all experienced in cases of illness. Nest Lloyd had tried to prevail upon her to visit with her the sick people under her care about Capel Illtyd; but she was obliged to give up all thoughts of making a nurse or doctress of Hirell. She was like some wild creature in her extreme sensitiveness at the sight of physical pain. A consumptive cough made her tremble; a cry of suffering filled her with almost passionate alarm; the knowledge of some girl in the village being in a decline, would cost her days of melancholy thought and restlessness. The wise, careful Nest was shocked at her want of discretion and self-control before such people; and thought it best to leave off taking her, for their sakes, as well as for Hirell's.

To Rymer's illness was added the fact that his reserve and isolation made it a great difficulty for her to approach him.

If she had found him in a fit or fainting, her hesitation to offer assistance would have been less; but the very dejection and wretchedness of his attitude, showed his consciousness. And remembering how studiously he