'Na, na,' was the only answer, as he poured forth a flood of tears.
'Come, come, my little man, what is it? Tell me, and perhaps we can set it all to rights.'
'Gone! gone away for ever!' cried the child, as a burst of pent-up agony broke from him; and he cried as though his very heart would break.
Again the terrible foreboding crossed my mind, and without waiting to ask another question I rushed forward, cleared the little fence of the flower-garden at a spring and stood within a few yards of the window. It lay open as usual; the large china vase of moss-roses that she had plucked the evening before stood on the little table beside it. I stopped for an instant to breathe; the beating of my heart was so painful that I pressed my hand upon my side. At that instant I had given my life to have heard Louisa's voice; but for one single word I had bartered my heart's blood. But all was as hushed and still as midnight. I thought I did hear something like a sigh; yes, and now I could distinctly hear the rustling sound of some one as if turning in a chair. Sir Simon Bellew, for some cause, or other, I knew never came into that room. I listened again: yes, and now too I could see the shadow of a figure on the floor. I sprang forward to the window and cried out, 'Louisa!' The next instant I was in the room, and my eyes fell upon the figure of—Ulick Burke! Seated in a deep arm-chair, his leg resting on a low stool, he was reclining at half-length, his face pale as death, and his very lips blanched; but there rested on the mouth the same curl of insolent mockery that marked it when first we met.
'Disappointed, I fear, sir,' said he, in a tone which, however weakened by sickness, had lost nothing of its sneering bitterness.
'I confess, sir,' said I confusedly, 'that this is a pleasure I had not anticipated.'
'Nor I either, sir,' replied he, with a dark frown. 'Had I been able to ring the bell before, the letter that lies there should have been sent to you, and might have spared both of us this “pleasure,” as you are good enough to call it.'
'A letter for me?' said I eagerly; then half ashamed at my own emotion, and not indifferent to the sickly and apparently dying form before me, I hesitated, and added, 'I trust that you are recovering from the effects of your wound.'
