She watched him ride off in the fair autumn light as she had watched Thornton so many weeks before. But about her brother fear and sorrow had thrown their shadows-now she looked through an atmosphere of perfect trust. Probably she did not recognise the rainbow which this sunshine made from the lingering tear-drops in her eyes, but it was there nevertheless.

CHAPTER XXXI.

His sweetness won a more regard

Unto his place, than all the boist❜rous moods

That ignorant greatness practiseth.-BEN JONSON.

'You have seen her!' was Thornton's exclamation, when Mr. Raynor entered his room about eight o'clock that evening.

'Does she want to see me?' was Thornton's next question, but put in a different tone.

'You do not deserve to see her, for even asking,' said his friend. How are you? let me feel your hand.'

6

'O I am well enough,' said Thornton, throwing himself into the other corner of his easy chair- or should be, if my head would stop turning round. But after all, Henry, what makes you say that? you know as well as I do that I don't deserve to have her care whether I am alive or dead.'

'Then go further back, and say that you do not deserve to have such a sister. Never ask me whether Rosalie is herself still. What is the matter with your head?'

'Turns round, that's all,' said Thornton. 'Waltzes seeing my feet have not the power. How cool your hand is! a very quaker touch, and my head stops waltzing.'

'What machinery set it agoing?'

HIS WAY IN MOST THINGS.

293

'I don't know—' said Thornton with another fling. 'Or at least it is not worth while to inquire.'

'Very worth while, for you. In the mean time sit still. I have quaker prejudices against a general waltz.'

'Well you keep your hand still then,' said Thornton laughing. 'Now tell me every word that Rosalie said. And in the first place, Sir Henry, I think quite as highly of her as you do.'

6

'I should be glad to think so,' said Mr.. Raynor quietly. 'Well think so then!' said Thornton with an impatient gesture. You are not obliged to admire her any more than I do, at all events. Was her conversation so sweet and pleasant that you have scruples about repeating it?'

'On the contrary the words spoken were mostly my own, and Rosalie said but little.?

'Rosalie again!' said Thornton. call her so?'

'Merely because it suits me.'

'But other people do not.'

'Why will you always

'Other people have their way and I have mine.'

You have it in most things, to do you justice,' said Thornton. 'Well will it suit you to tell me what she did say?'

'She asked how you were, and why she had not been sent for; and wished very much to come directly to you to-night.'

'The gypsy!' said Thornton looking pleased. "Well why didn't she?'

'Because my wish was different.'

'What do you mean by that, Mr. Raynor?' said Thornton facing round upon him.

had

'The simple truth.'

'Very peculiar truth to my ears,' said Thornton. 'What about it?'

you

to say

'I did say that I should not bring her.'

'And she submitted?'

'Certainly,—she could not well come alone.'

Thornton kicked off his slipper to the furthest corner of the room-then subsided.

'You are so excessively cool!' he said—and slippery to match. Do you never congeal in the course of a conversation?'

'Not often,' said Mr. Raynor

"He that lets

Another chafe, may warm him at his fire."'

'What else was said?' inquired Thornton abruptly. 'I gave your sister a very particular account of your weeks of illness, the beginning thereof, and the state in which they had left you: told her that probably you would be with her to-morrow, and that she need feel neither sorrow nor anxiety about your health.'

'Hum-' said Thornton. 'What else?'

'That is the substance of what was said about you.'
'What about anything else?'

'Nothing that I think it worth while to repeat.'

6

'But I think it worth while that you should,' said Thornton. And I think I have a right to know all that is said to my sister by anybody, or by her to anybody.' 'I think differently.'

'I don't care what you think,' said Thornton starting up from his chair.

'And I care what you do,' said Mr. Raynor, with strong though gentle hands bringing him back to a resting posture. 'Sit quiet Thornton, and throw not away the little strength you have gained.'

'Little indeed!' said Thornton bitterly, as he felt it by no means up to the resisting point. 'But you may take

your hands away—I suppose I can sit still without being

held.'

One hand still kept its guard however, but the other laid that same cool touch on his forehead and for a little while there was silence. Mr. Raynor stood motionless, and Thornton tired with the excitement into which he had wrought himself, was nearly as still; a quick breath or two escaping like pent up steam from time to time.

'What do you vex me for, Henry?' he said at length. 'I did not intend it.'

6 But you know it always vexes me to see you so cool.' 'I may not vex myself to please you, Thornton,' said his friend.

'And Rosalie-you know I never can bear to hear you talk about her.'

'You insisted that I should.'

'Well but-' said Thornton,- -' of course I did, but not in that way. How did she look ?'

'I fear any description I might give would be too much in that way,'' said Mr. Raynor.

'You are certainly the most provoking man I ever had to deal with. Did she look as well as she used to?'

'As she used to when?'

'Why always!' said Thornton.

'Her health has had several phases since I first knew her,' said his friend gravely. She is perhaps looking better than she was last spring, and will I hope improve faster now that her mind is at rest about you,-partly at rest.'

Thornton could have been vexed again, but the words touched him on more points than one.

'Did you see Hulda?' he inquired.

No, she was out.'

'May she always be that when I am there!' said Thornton, his ill humour rushing off into that channel. 'When one