asked him the question on the reply to which all her earthly happiness
seemed to hang,--whether he had hope that the life of her boy might be
spared.

"I have every hope", said the surgeon, cheerfully, "if we can keep down
the fever." Then, for the first time since she had seen her son lie
bleeding before her, the mother found the relief of tears.

Through the long night she quitted not the sufferer's pillow, bathing
his fevered brow, relieving his thirst, whispering comfort to his
troubled spirit. Soon after daybreak Philip sank into a quiet,
refreshing sleep; and Lady Grange, feeling as if a mountain's weight had
been lifted from her heart, hurried to carry the good news to her husband.

She found him in the spacious saloon, pacing restlessly to and fro. His
brow was knit, his lips compressed; his disordered dress and haggard
countenance showed that he, too, had watched the live-long night.

"He sleeps at last, Gilbert, thank God!" Her face brightened as she
spoke; but there was no corresponding look of joy on that of her husband.

"Gilbert, the doctor assures me that there is every prospect of our
dear boy's restoration!"

"And to what is he to be restored?" said the father gloomily; "to
poverty--misery--ruin!"

Lady Grange stood mute with surprise scarcely believing the evidence of
her senses almost deeming that the words must have been uttered in a
dream. But it was no dream, but one of those strange, stern realities