I will not dwell on the wearisome details of a sick room; my escape from death was almost miraculous, still the injuries I received were dangerous, and my recovery retarded by the fever consequent on my slow and painful transit from the scene of the accident to Winter's house, where he insisted on establishing me, on the plea that he was partly the cause of my sufferings. Here all that kindness and skill could accomplish, was done to alleviate them; poor Gilpin watching over me with the affection of a brother, and the tenderness of woman. Mrs. O'Toole, too, seemed a fixture by my bedside, and when in the delirium of fever, no voice had so much influence over me, I was told, as the rich tones of her mellifluous brogue.

Burton and Colonel Dashwood came over from Carrington, on receiving despatches announcing the accident, and the former finding me in such good hands, gave up his intention of remaining with me. Notwithstanding all the care and watchfulness expended on me, October was well nigh past before the spectacled, shovel-hatted Galen of A—— pronounced a visit to the drawing room feasible; and my utter exhaustion, when the transit from my room was effected, proved the correctness of his judgment.

There I lay stretched on the sofa, strength and energy alike vanished, finding a sufficient exercise for all my faculties, in watching the twinkling of Mrs. Winter's knitting needles, and enjoying a delicious languor, partly the result of weakness, partly of freedom from pain. Where was the resolution with which I was to disentangle my affairs, rouse my brother to a sense of duty, and try my chance of winning Kate Vernon? Buried in the ruins of the "Lady's Tower," as it was called, while I was utterly unable to move without assistance, and indebted to Mrs. Winter's unceasing attention for the conveyance of every spoonful of jelly that reached my lips, yet in spite of all, I was almost glad to be thus compelled to postpone for the present my intentions.

It was so delightful to feel that no exertion could be expected from me, and that I was chained within the magic circle of Kate Vernon's influence, without the possibility of Burton or any one else caviling at the cause. Yet such is the miserable vanity of our petty nature, I rather delayed seeing her, even after the doctor had declared visitors admissible. The Colonel had from the first seen me almost daily, and now no morning passed, without a visit from him to tell me the news—what the troops in India were about; what the Times said of the Ministry, and of the enquiries made for me by Colonel Dashwood and my brother officers; in short, I was an occupation to him, and always welcomed his appearance with a warmth too genuine not to touch his benevolent heart.

Winter had received one or two notes of inquiry from my brother, finally a formal letter of thanks for his attention to me, and Egerton appeared to relapse into his usual forgetfulness of my existence.

My days generally passed in a sort of routine order, each person of our little society giving me a portion of their time in turn. The Colonel in the morning, when Winter was out and his wife in the subterranean regions, devoted to gastronomy; then Gilpin used to look in between the intervals of his music lessons; after this came a dreary pause, before Mrs. Winter was sufficiently at liberty to take up her strangely soothing work, and Winter still in his studio.

I was unequal to the effort of perusing a book, and longed for some one to read to me, so I generally lay "chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy" from one to two o'clock, and curious enough, as my strength slowly returned, the bitter predominated; my mind seemed to gather force enough to feel the weight of responsibilities, from which the weakness it shared with its closely linked associate, the body, had freed it for a while. Is it not thus that spirits and forms of slighter make, and less comprehensive faculties manage to cast away sorrows and sicknesses that would shatter more robust and powerful frames.

Woe to him whose deep and sensitive feelings are not linked with a nature strong enough to direct and support them. And for those from whose light-hearted buoyancy, care and regret seem to glance away as if from polished armour; why should we dare to sneer at their apparent frivolity? shall not nature which has furnished every living thing with its own peculiar weapon, provide the spirit with a fitting defence against the deadly foes that beset it. Maraviglia, as Winter would say, what profound reflections for a Captain of Light Dragoons!

The interval I have described was dragging its dreary length slowly over one determined wet day, dark and misty, the clouds having apparently come down to earth in a fit of hysterics; the trees in the Abbey garden visible from my sofa had a thoroughly drenched saturated look as if nothing could ever dry them; once or twice the tramp tramp of a pair of heavy hob-nailed shoes echoed through the square, and the wearer trudged by in glistening oilskin cap, a sack thrown over his shoulders, and a shivering dripping dog at his heels; but beyond this no living creature showed out of shelter. It was too much, I fancied, even for the most aquatically inclined duck. I felt the want of companionship deplorably. What could Winter mean by pretending business with the Dean this morning? If he was at home I would have some one to speak to, it is too dark to paint.

There was a low knock at the door, and Mrs. O'Toole's broad pleasant face appeared, beaming on me over a tray which she carried.

"Ah, Nurse," I exclaimed, "how delighted I am to see you here—shake hands." I got quite affectionate at the idea of a pleasant chat with Mrs. O'Toole.

"Och, jewel, now be asy! don't be strivin' to sit up; sure I'll settle the pillas for ye, before y'd say thrap stick, if you'd have patience. There now, take a sup of it, I made ye a nice drop of jelly meeself; sure little Mrs. Winter's a good soul, but I don't like them English ways of puttin' lard an' suet into their paste instead of the best ov good buther; faith, ses I to meeself, may be it's glue they'll be puttin' in the jelly, so I made ye a drop; an' Mrs. Winter ses, mighty good humoured, 'Walk up, Mrs. O'Toole, in coorse nothin' plaises the Captin so much as what you make.' Dear knows it's the t'underin' wet day; an' how are ye, agrah?"

I may observe en passant that Mrs. O'Toole had treated me more like a pet child than a respected "Right Honourable" since my illness, and rather ruled me with a rod of iron.

I replied to her kind enquiries, and asked for Miss Vernon.

"Is it Miss Kate? she's singin' like a lark. Ses she, 'Nurse, be sure you ask Captin Egerton when I may go see him; I'm sure,' ses she, 'he's angry with me for making him go back to help Mr. Gilpin,' ses she, 'or he'd let me go see him as well as every one else,' ses she."

"Did she though? I am most happy she made me instrumental in saving Mr. Gilpin's life, and of course I'll be too glad to see her the next time she calls on Mrs. Winter; but Nurse, don't I look confoundedly wretched?"

"Musha is it that ye'r thinkin' of? ye needn't bother ye'r head about it, honey. If ye were like ould Dan Kelly (an' he'd a broken nose an' a cast in his two eyes), Miss Kate, 'ud think the sun shone in ye'r face afther ye'r goin back to help the crather of an organist, an every one else runin' away. She ses"—

"Oh! it was a natural instinct to help him."

"Faith, it 'ud come more natural to many a one to save himself. I'll never forget the night ye come home all bruised an' bloody, widout as much life in ye as 'ud stand a pooff, Gilpin houldin' yer head, Winter cursin' (God forgive him) like a throoper in Greek or Latin; the ould masther, as studdy as a rock, sending off right an' left for everything, an' Miss Kate as white as a sheet, an' thrimblin' from head to fut, not spakin' a word, an' keepin' quiet as a lamb, just not to disturb any one. Musha, but we'd the ruction!"

"I can never forget the great kindness you all showed me; I must have been a great trouble to you when I was delirious; do you remember what I raved about?"

"Oh! you was rampagin mad; it was ordtherin' the army one minit, an' followin' the hounds the next, an' shoutin' murther to save Miss Kate, for whatever ye began with, it iver an' always ended with her; may be ye have a sisther called Kate."

"No, it was your Miss Kate that always seemed to me in some deadly danger, and I could not rescue her; your voice used invariably to break the spell; but did any one else hear me except you?"

"I couldn't take upon me to say, but Mr. Gilpin an' meeself was wid ye most times."

"Hum! and Miss Vernon, you did not mention my delusions to her?"

"In course I did."

"And what did she say?"

Mrs. O'Toole just thought for a moment, and then looking up in my face, said, "Is it Miss Kate? Ses she—'isn't it odd, dear Nurse, how people rave about those they never think of when sane,' ses she; sane or sinsible was the word, but I dis remember which."

Not much tenderness or recognition of my feelings there, I thought! "Tant mieux, you may put away the cup, Nurse, it was so good I quite enjoyed it: and tell me, did you see Colonel Dashwood when he was over here?"

"Is it the 'Curnel? To be sure I did, he was twizte over at the Priory, an' a fine grand lookin' gentleman he is; he wanted the masther to go back with him, but, ses he, 'No, Dashwood, I'm too old for a mess table, an' I would have no pleasure widout poor Egerton, at all evints,' ses he; an' then Miss Kate ups, an' ses she, 'If you take grandpapa, 'Curnel, you must take me too, for we are—' Musha, I forget the word."

"Inseparable," I suggested.

"Somethin' like it, anyhow; and then the 'Curnel bowed mighty grand, an' ses he—'Arrah, then, it's the whole rigmint 'ull be wantin' 'Curnel Vernon, if I mintion them conditions,' ses he."

I laughed to a degree that alarmed Nurse, at the idea of our dashing thorough-bred colonel prefacing his speech with "arrah, thin."

"I'll lave ye intirely if ye be shakin' yerself that way, when ye havn't the stringth in ye to laugh out."

"Oh Nurse, dear Nurse, do not go, tell me something more."

"I havn't a ha'poth more to tell ye, an its time for me to be going. The blessin' of Christ be wid ye, ye'r lookin' ten stone bether, Glory be to God."

The next day in consequence of Nurse's report, Miss Vernon came with her grandfather. I almost expected her, yet her advent made me feel strangely nervous; it seemed strange to me too, being unable to rise, that she should come over, and place her hand in mine, when I could not stir to receive her; she sat down near me and began talking in a gentle subdued tone, as if half afraid of disturbing me.

"You look much better than I expected, Captain Egerton; what a wonderful recovery! But why would you not let me come here before?"

"I was afraid my ghastly looks would frighten you."

"You look all eyes now."

In a whisper, "I am."

"I do not think you look so well to day, Egerton, you have a feverish excited air, and your voice is decidedly weaker," observed the Colonel.

"Perhaps we ought not to stay," said Miss Vernon.

"I beg you will not leave me," I gasped.

After a little more conversation a message from Mr. Winter called the Colonel out of the room, and Kate and I were tÊte-À-tÊte.

"Nurse gave rather a melancholy account of you yesterday," said Miss Vernon, "she said you were all alone and 'dissolute' by yourself. Have you no books?"

"I do not feel up to reading, but if I had any one to read out to me—Gilpin has not time."

"I would be delighted, I will come here and read to you and Mrs. Winter every day."

"You are most kind."

The excitement of her visit was too much for me, and I felt a faintness stealing over me. Miss Vernon observing the deadly pallor of my face, with an expression of alarm, felt my pulse. "Let me call some one," she said. I feebly grasped her hand, dreading that an interview so delightful to me should be curtailed.

"It is nothing—air, air!" I articulated with much difficulty. Still leaving her hand in mine, she stretched the other to a screen, and fanned me silently for a few moments; then perceiving the returning colour, "Are you better now?" she said softly, with such an expression of tenderness in her dark eyes, I could have thrown myself at her feet.

"If you will let go my hand I will get you a little of that bottle; I see 'restorative' on it" she added, without a shade of embarrassment, evidently considering my desire to retain it some sickly fancy. I reluctantly relinquished my hold and turning to the table she gave me the medicine and then arranged my pillows in such a home-like manner.

From that interview, the sort of unsettled but ardent admiration I had before entertained for her, seemed to deepen into something purer, higher, more devoted, and unselfish, than I had ever felt before. I looked forward to the possibility of calling her my wife; not with the rash eagerness to possess a new toy, or to give life a new charm, but with a deep rooted conviction that with her at my side, come weal or woe, I would have love and truth and strength there always and unchangeably.

From this time she came over constantly after my host's early dinner, and read aloud, while Mrs. Winter pursued her occupation of knitting; and I lay on my sofa all eye and ear. Winter and the Colonel often joined our party, but the former was too fond of raising questions in opposition to the opinions of whatever author we were perusing.

Miss Vernon generally chose the books she was to read, and I could not help thinking she had some design in her selection; they were generally thoughtful, high toned works, not coming under the denomination of religious literature; but yet setting forth in a strong, though unobtrusive manner, the necessity of faith; the healing power of resignation.

I hinted one day that I could see she intended to convert me; she disclaimed such an intention very eagerly, concluding, "why should I pretend to do so; I am sure you are as good as I am! I consulted Mr. Gilpin about the books, and took what he advised, and I like them too, for I feel they do me good; but I will bring you a novel to-morrow." She did so, and chose Zanoni, excluding Winter from the lecture. I did thoroughly enjoy it.

Miss Vernon seemed to identify herself with its noble thoughts, its wild imaginings, its grand philosophy, and high-souled spirit of self-sacrifice! Her musical voice varying with every sentiment it expressed, and often laying down the book to discuss its character with an interest and affection that invested them with life-like reality: I had glanced over the work before, and put it down with an acknowledgment, certainly, of the author's great genius, but with an idea that it was beyond the scope of my imagination to enjoy. Kate's readings and remarks on it revealed me to myself, and showed me I had aspirations and capabilities for better things: yet it was merely the outpouring of her own heart, and she would have raised her darkly fringed eyelids in astonishment had any one told her she was making a silent revolution in mine.

Poor Mrs. Winter used to listen to our animated debates on Viola and Glyndon, &c., in perfect amazement, and when appealed to by Kate for an opinion, replied with a smile, "Indeed, my dear, I don't know; it's a very curious book, and quite impossible to believe any man could see and know everything the way that Mr. Zanoni did."

Longfellow's poems, then attracting notice for the first time in England, were great favourites with Miss Vernon, and here she and Winter perfectly agreed, for a wonder. These were hours of intense happiness: the exterior world all forgotten, I lived in a fairy-like dream, with just sufficient of earth around me to prove it real; my strength was now rapidly returning, and I began to feel this delicious breathing space from life's ruder joys and ruder cares had lasted long enough. Once or twice I had caught Winter watching Kate and myself as we sat apart rather from the others—she pouring forth her opinions on some favourite author with all her accustomed enthusiasm—I wrapped in contemplation of her, and thinking but little of the subject which engrossed her thoughts.

Winter, I repeat, would sometimes glance uneasily at us as we sat thus, but I always observed serenity return to his countenance, as his eye rested on Miss Vernon.

It soon grew into a habit, that the Vernons and Gilpin should come in every evening; Kate and the Organist taking it by turns to cut into the rubber or talk with me, as I showed a decided disinclination for the society of Miss Araminta Cox, who usually made up the whist table; we had a good deal of music too, my favourite songs were all duly remembered, and all my whims so kindly attended to, I almost regretted that soon no excuse would remain for prolonging my sojourn amongst them. The first day I ventured to walk out, Burton came over from Carrington with a packet of letters, arrived during my illness; there were some pleasant reminders from my solicitors that Messrs. Levi and Co.'s bill would soon be due, and that they kindly offered to renew on exorbitant terms. One or two missives of the same nature; an epistle from Egerton, congratulating me on my escape from the infernal regions, which he seemed clearly of opinion would have been my destination, had not Nature or the Doctor been too strong for Grim Death, and concluding with an exhortation to read the 25th chapter of St. Matthew. "He is worse than ever," was my reflection, as I finished the perusal, "what a Herculean labour I have before me, in the attempt to soften the heart of such a thoroughgoing Evangelical. They always manage to convince themselves that it is for the good of their souls that their pockets should be hermetically sealed against the wants of their brothers. But I must get out of Messrs. Levi's clutches at any cost."

Lastly, a long rambling but affectionate letter from my sister, telling me more of English gossip, than I could imagine the dolce far niente of Neapolitan life had left her energy enough to collect.

"I feel rather distressed, dear Fred," she said, after giving me an amusing sketch of the society about her, "at the profoundly moral tone of your letter, and fear you must be in debt, (not far out there) for you never were very serious about any love affair; tell me what is the matter? You know we are rich, and Harry always liked you. I have been so bored about some absurd speech of Egerton's at Exeter Hall; they tell me, (for I never read such things) he said, 'the ministry had delivered the nation, bound hand and foot to Beelzebub, where they sent an Ambassador to Antichrist (meaning the Pope);' do find out if this is true, for the people here have discovered he is my brother, and the women always cross themselves when I enter a room, which is so absurd, and disagreeable: the men only laugh. I am much better, and we think of returning to England next spring. I wish you would get leave of absence and run over to us, for the winter. It is too dreadful to think of your being condemned to remain at that horrible place; would it not be better to live altogether at A——, if you must be near your Regiment. Talking of you the other night to Count Alphonso Di Montibello, he said there was a famous painter, a great ally of his, who used to study here, now living at A——; do you know any thing of him?

"Now, dear Fred, good bye, write soon again to me; ever your affectionate sister,

"Mary F. Wentworth."

"P.S.—Harry desires his remembrances; I had almost forgotten Lady Desmond; of course I know her, every one does; she is a most charming person, and creates a perfect furore here; such taste, and certainly the most ladylike Irishwoman I ever met; she has refused a perfect army of Counts and Marquises. Cela va sans dire; but if report speaks true, that nice creature Sir Charles Seyton shared the same fate. They say Adolphus Somerset, one of our attachÉs, got sick leave, after offering his little diplomatic self for her acceptance, and receiving one fixed look from her dark eyes! I have a theory of my own that Lady Desmond, calm, proud, and cold as she seems, has a tendresse for a certain blasÉ peer, at present among our most prominent notorieties; he piques himself on his cynicism, and is rather in the Satanic style; very ridiculous I think! They tell me dreadful stories of him. Lady Desmond talks of travelling with us as far as Florence next spring; if you have any engouement for her, get rid of it, I would advise you, for she had some trouble to recall your memory to hers, and seemed quite astonished when I told her you had made any enquiries about her. Adieu once more."

How thoroughly characteristic her letter is of the life she leads, kindly and polished, but trifling and self-absorbed! I must ask Winter about this Count Alphonso di——, what is it?

"And is your business so urgent that you cannot put it off till you are stronger?" said the old Colonel to me about a week after the receipt of the above, when I announced my intention of starting for Allerton, my brother's place in Hampshire.

"It is indeed," I replied, so gloomily, that my kind old friend asked, "Nothing disagreeable I hope?"

"Nothing very pleasant," said I, forcing a laugh; "I will tell you all when I come back; do not look so gravely at me, Miss Vernon."

"Did I? I was not aware of it; but are you not very rash to travel so soon?"

"No, I would get a fever if I remained."