THE sound of kicking, or knocking, grew louder every moment:and at last a door opened somewhere near us. `Did you say "come in!" Sir?'my landlady asked timidly.

`Oh yes, come in!' I replied. `What's the matter?'

`A note has just been left for you, Sir, by the baker'sboy. He said he was passing the Hall, and they asked him to come roundand leave it here.'

The note contained five words only. `Please come at once.Muriel.'

A sudden terror seemed to chill my very heart. `The Earlis ill!' I said to myself. `Dying, perhaps!' And I hastily prepared toleave the house.

`No bad news, Sir, I hope?' my landlady said, as she sawme out. `The boy said as some one had arrived unexpectedly--'

`I hope that is it!' I said. But my feelings were thoseof fear rather than of hope: though, on entering the house, I was somewhatreassured by finding luggage lying in the entrance, bearing the initials`E.L.'

`It's only Eric Lindon after all!' I thought, half relievedand half annoyed. `Surely she need not have sent for me for that!'

Lady Muriel met me in the passage. Her eyes were gleaming--butit was the excitement of joy, rather than of grief. `I have a surprisefor you!' she whispered.

`You mean that Eric Lindon is here?' I said, vainly tryingto disguise the involuntary bitterness of my tone. `"The funeral bakedmeats did coldly furnish forth the marriage-tables,"' I could not helprepeating to myself. How cruelly I was misjudging her!

`No, no!' she eagerly replied. `At least--Eric is here.But--' her voice quivered, `but there is another!'

No need for further question. I eagerly followed her in.There on the bed, he lay--pale and worn--the mere shadow of his old self--myold friend come back again from the dead!

`Arthur!' I exclaimed. I could not say another word.

`Yes, back again, old boy!' he murmured, smiling as Igrasped his hand. `He,' indicating Eric, who stood near, `saved my life--Hebrought me back. Next to God, we must thank him, Muriel, my wife!'

Silently I shook hands with Eric, and with the Earl: andwith one consent we moved into the shaded side of the room, where we couldtalk without disturbing the invalid, who lay, silent and happy, holdinghis wife's hand in his, and watching her with eyes that shone with thedeep steady light of Love.

`He has been delirious till to-day,' Eric explained ina low voice: `and even to-day he has been wandering more than once. Butthe sight of her has been new life to him.' And then he went on to tellus, in would-be careless tones--I knew how he hated any display of feeling--howhe had insisted on going back to the plague-stricken town, to bring awaya man whom the doctor had abandoned as dying, but who might, he fancied,recover if brought to the hospital: how he had seen nothing in the wastedfeatures to remind him of Arthur, and only recognized him when he visitedthe hospital a month after: how the doctor had forbidden him to announcethe discovery, saying that any shock to the over-taxed brain might killhim at once: how he had stayed on at the hospital, and nursed the sickman by night and day--all this with the studied indifference of one whois relating the commonplace acts of some chance acquaintance!

`And this was his rival!' I thought. `The man who hadwon from him the heart of the woman he loved!'

`The sun is setting,' said Lady Muriel, rising and leadingthe way to the open window. `Just look at the western sky! What lovelycrimson tints! We shall have a glorious day to-morrow--' We had followedher across the room, and were standing in a little group, talking in lowtones in the gathering gloom, when we were startled by the voice of thesick man, murmuring words too indistinct for the ear to catch.

`He is wandering again,' Lady Muriel whispered, and returnedto the bedside. We drew a little nearer also: but no, this had none ofthe incoherence of delirium. `What reward shall I give unto the Lord,'the tremulous lips were saying, `for all the benefits that He hath doneunto me? I will receive the cup of salvation, and call--and call--' buthere the poor weakened memory failed, and the feeble voice died into silence.

His wife knelt down at the bedside, raised one of hisarms, and drew it across her own, fondly kissing the thin white hand thatlay so listlessly in her loving grasp. It seemed to me a good opportunityfor stealing away without making her go through any form of parting: so,nodding to the Earl and Eric, I silently left the room. Eric followed medown the stairs, and out into the night.

`Is it Life or Death?' I asked him, as soon as we werefar enough from the house for me to speak in ordinary tones.

`It is Life!' he replied with eager emphasis. `The doctorsare quite agreed as to that. All he needs now, they say, is rest, and perfectquiet, and good nursing. He's quite sure to get rest and quiet, here: and,as for the nursing, why, I think it's just possible--' (he tried hard tomake his trembling voice assume a playful tone) `he may even get fairlywell nursed, in his present quarters!'

`I'm sure of it!' I said. `Thank you so much for comingout to tell me!' And, thinking he had now said all he had come to say,I held out my hand to bid him good night. He grasped it warmly, and added,turning his face away as he spoke, `By the way, there is one other thingI wanted to say, I thought you'd like to know that--that I'm not--not inthe mind I was in when last we met. It isn't--that I can accept Christianbelief--at least, not yet. But all this came about so strangely. And shehad prayed, you know. And I had prayed. And--and' his voice broke, andI could only just catch the concluding words, `there is a God that answersprayer! I know it for certain now.' He wrung my hand once more, and leftme suddenly. Never before had I seen him so deeply moved.

So, in the gathering twilight, I paced slowly homewards,in a tumultuous whirl of happy thoughts: my heart seemed full, and runningover, with joy and thankfulness: all that I had so fervently longed for,and prayed for, seemed now to have come to pass. And, though I reproachedmyself, bitterly, for the unworthy suspicion I had for one moment harbouredagainst the true-hearted Lady Muriel, I took comfort in knowing it hadbeen but a passing thought.

Not Bruno himself could have mounted the stairs with sobuoyant a step, as I felt my way up in the dark, not pausing to strikea light in the entry, as I knew I had left the lamp burning in my sitting-room.

But it was no common lamplight into which I now stepped,with a strange, new, dreamy sensation of some subtle witchery that hadcome over the place. Light, richer and more golden than any lamp couldgive, flooded the room, streaming in from a window I had somehow nevernoticed before, and lighting up a group of three shadowy figures, thatgrew momently more distinct--a grave old man in royal robes, leaning backin an easy chair, and two children, a girl and a boy, standing at his side.

`Have you the Jewel still, my child?' the old man wassaying.

`Oh, yes!' Sylvie exclaimed with unusual eagerness.

`Do you think I'd ever lose it or forget it?' She undidthe ribbon round her neck, as she spoke, and laid the Jewel in her father'shand.

Bruno looked at it admiringly. `What a lovely brightness!'he said. `It's just like a little red star! May I take it in my hand?'

Sylvie nodded: and Bruno carried it off to the window,and held it aloft against the sky, whose deepening blue was already spangledwith stars. Soon he came running back in some excitement. `Sylvie! Lookhere!' he cried. `I can see right through it when I hold it up to the sky.And it isn't red a bit: it's, oh such a lovely blue! And the words areall different! Do look at it!'

Sylvie was quite excited, too, by this time; and the twochildren eagerly held up the Jewel to the light, and spelled out the legendbetween them, `ALL WILL LOVE SYLVIE.'

`Why, this is the other Jewel!' cried Bruno. `Don't youremember, Sylvie? The one you didn't choose!'

Sylvie took it from him, with a puzzled look, and heldit, now up to the light, now down. `It's blue, one way,' she said softlyto herself, `and it's red the other way! Why, I thought there were twoof them--Father!' she suddenly exclaimed, laying the Jewel once more inhis hand, `I do believe it was the same Jewel all the time!'

`Then you choosed it from itself,' Bruno thoughtfullyremarked. `Father, could Sylvie choose a thing from itself?'

`Yes, my own one,' the old man replied to Sylvie, notnoticing Bruno's embarrassing question, `it was the same Jewel--but youchose quite right.' And he fastened the ribbon round her neck again.

`SYLVIE WILL LOVE ALL--ALL WILL LOVE SYLVIE,' Bruno murmured,raising himself on tiptoe to kiss the `little red star'. `And, when youlook at it, it's red and fierce like the sun--and, when you look throughit, it's gentle and blue like the sky!'

`God's own sky,' Sylvie said, dreamily.

`God's own sky,' the little fellow repeated, as they stood,lovingly clinging together, and looking out into the night. `But oh, Sylvie,what makes the sky such a darling blue?'

Sylvie's sweet lips shaped themselves to reply, but hervoice sounded faint and very far away. The vision was fast slipping frommy eager gaze: but it seemed to me, in that last bewildering moment, thatnot Sylvie but an angel was looking out through those trustful brown eyes,and that not Sylvie's but an angel's voice was whispering