So I went down and borrowed a Bible in large characters, and placed it
on the bed before him, opening the shutters and letting in God's day
upon God's word.

I had just done this when there was a slight knock at the door. I
opened it, and Lord Castleton stood without. He asked me, in a whisper,
if he might see my uncle. I drew him in gently, and pointed to the
soldier of life "learning what was not impossible" from the unerring
Order-Book.

Lord Castleton gazed with a changing countenance, and without disturbing
my uncle, stole back. I followed him, and gently closed the door.

"You must save his son," he said in a faltering voice,--"you must; and
tell me how to help you. That sight,--no sermon ever touched me more!
Now come down and receive Lady Ellinor's thanks. We are going. She
wants me to tell my own tale to my old friend Mrs. Grundy; so I go with
them. Come!"

On entering the sitting-room, Lady Ellinor came up and fairly embraced
me. I need not repeat her thanks, still less the praises, which fell
cold and hollow on my ear. My gaze rested on Fanny where she stood
apart,--her eyes, heavy with fresh tears, bent on the ground. And the
sense of all her charms; the memory of the tender, exquisite kindness
she had shown to the stricken father; the generous pardon she had
extended to the criminal son; the looks she had bent upon me on that
memorable night (looks that had spoken such trust in my presence), the
moment in which she had clung to me for protection, and her breath been
warm upon my cheek,--all these rushed over me, and I felt that the