CHAPTER X.

I will away

rounded by a rustic construction in a most romantic dell, over which hung large, drooping forest trees, shutting out the sunlight and making it a quiet and secluded place. The lulling sound of the tinkling water, as it coursed over the pebbles in a succession of endless rivulets, was music to Vernon's ear, and feeling quite at home there, he would dismiss his servant until some stated hour, when either he, or Sybil, freed from her attendance upon her grandmother, would seek him and conduct him home. The early stars or twilight moon often found him dreaming there, and his calmest hours of contemplation were spent in this favourite spot.

As Vernon became more accustomed to the loss of his sight and the night in which he groped, the footpaths more familiar and the strange horror of entire darkness less painful, he relinquished occasionally the companionship of an attendant, and learned to love the deep solitude of the woods, taking a kind of pride in being able to dispense with the surveillance which always seemed to him to be inseparable from the guidance of his servant. But just as he congratulated himself upon his freedom, an event occurred which made him realize to the full extent his helplessness, and that though of almost Herculean proportions, his strength now availed him nothing. This lesson he learned, and also with it another, of infinitely more importance; he learned that he had advanced one step towards self-government, and that his pride of character, which was one of his besetting sins, was, in a measure, subdued by the incident which is about to be

related.

One evening as William Banks, the boy whom Vernon so unfeelingly had caused to be punished, was returning to. his home, rather later than usual from his work, he noticed a man of suspicious appearance lingering around the precincts of the spring, and as he was evidently a stranger, he concluded that he could be there for no good purpose, and cautiously following his footsteps, he soon thought that he had discovered the object which had brought him to the place. The man, with noiseless tread, parted the thick branches which grew interlaced around the spring, and peering in, seemed, by the expression of his countenance, satisfied with what he saw therein, and soon disappeared, closely followed by William, who, the instant that he had command of the scene unfolded to him, stopped for further enlightenment as to the intruder's intentions.

He saw that Vernon lay on the soft, moss-crowned bank in a deep sleep, the moon lighting up his whole figure, and that the man, stepping forward, approached him softly, bending at length over him, as if to ascertain if he were really quite unconscious of his presence. Then William saw further that he drew a knife from his belt and laid it upon the mound beside him, ready it would appear, to use in an emergency; next the watcher

beheld him deliberately kneel by Vernon, and with some sharp instrument sever his watch from the chain, at last proceeding to rifle his pockets.

The spectator of this strange, bold proceeding, stood for a moment passionless and unmoved-there was a memory in his heart which had been burnt there, he feared never to be effaced, it was simply a disgrace, which he, the helpless one, at the mercy of a robber and an assassin, had brought upon him who was a witness of the scene before him, and he felt that he was at last avenged, but it was only for a moment; his better nature returned to him and he acted accordingly.

Watching his opportunity, and he had to be circumspect, feeling that though he was a strong, tall lad, he was no match for an experienced ruffian with a knife at his command, he leapt suddenly down into the ravine, and snatching up the knife, which he threw some distance away, caught hold of the kneeling robber's arms, and pinioning them from behind, forcibly held him down.

With a terrible oath, the man tried to extricate himself, and Vernon awoke only to grope about bewildered and alarmed. In a voice almost inaudible from the effort, very nearly beyond his strength, which he was making to keep the struggling man in his grasp, William made him understand the state of things, and Vernon, grateful to his rescuer, but unable to be of any service to him, had no other alternative than to call loudly to his servant, whom he expected momently. It would be impossible to describe the tumult of feelings raging in Vernon's breast as he stood there in his helplessness. Once, it would not have been thus; trained to feats of strength, surpassing all his companions in agility and skill, and in all that called forth muscular power, stalwart, tall and commanding, with a breadth of chest that seemed as if it would defy the blows that most men might be able to give it, he chafed like a caged lion, a very Sampson in an angry, inward struggle, but this agony of endu rance availed him nothing. Happily, John was at no great distance, and has

tened promptly to the spot, where, with the assistance of William, whose strength was now nearly overspent, he succeeded in securing the man.

He wa was a hardened looking ruffian, this intruder upon that peaceful glen, and Vernon discovered that he had but lately been dismissed from the county jail, and becoming acquainted with his secluded habits, had determined to replenish his purse from Vernon's before venturing into the world again. The man, in his confession, owned his intention of killing his victim had he made any resistance, but William's sudden appearance had defeated all his plans. It was thus that the boy, so persecuted once, found himself suddenly raised to a position of importance, but he looked for no reward or favor from him, who had so cruelly denied all favors at a time when he needed them much more than in the present instance.

When Sybil heard of Vernon's providential escape, her whole soul lifted itself in thankful prayer to God for his preservation, but when she learned to whom he had been indebted for his safety, and life perhaps, a glow of triumph lit up her face, for she had long felt a security in the boy's rectitude of character, and she was curious to know how Vernon would act towards his deliverer. IIer interest in William Banks had been of no negative sort, fer ever since his disgrace she had been a constant visitor at his mother's cottage, and in her own gentle way, she had soothed the inmates there by telling them that a first step towards evil was often the last, and that she had not lost confidence in the offender if he felt contrition for what he had done, and by timely counsel and gifts of books and needful clothing, she won the love and respect of the household, and the right to speak encouragingly to the boy. Now she felt that her trust had not been misplaced, for it was this apparent, entire forgetfulness of Vernon's punishment in defending him with so much bravery, which convinced her that the lad was not utterly depraved, and that she had not sown the good seed of advice and sympathy in vain.

With a strange, eager interest she waited for some demonstration of gratitude upon Vernon's part, but that reserve which he knew so well how to assume, was an effectual barrier to every thing like confidence, and thus a week passed, a miserable week to Sybil, who feared that, among other faults of character which beset her adopted brother, foremost would be ranked that of ingratitude, but at the end of the week, rather a formal summons from Vernon for her to come to him in the library, made her anticipate that it would lead to some course of action on his part, which would clear him from this new charge.

64

'What! send for this cottager, this

boy who but two years ago

"Stop, Mr. Vernon," said Sybil, arresting his words with her hand laid upon his arm, "leave that unsaid; do not speak about what he has been, but what he is." Vernon trembled under that light touch, and that gentle rebuke.

"Well, then," he continued, "you would have me send for this cottager, I know it, though you have not said one word to influence me, but I feel it here in my heart, Sybil, and tell him that I owe him my life, that his bravery was unparalleled, his presence of mind extraordinary, and besides this, you would have me reward him by some post of trust and honour-is it not so, Sybil ?"

His voice softened as he spoke, and Sybil caught his hand gratefully-since eye could not reply to eye, it was but another way of showing her approval

of what he had said.

"Send for the lad, Sybil," he said at last, "here and at once!"

A second time was William the cottager sent for to the house at Vernon Grove, but under what different circumstances! The boy advanced with a modest, though not downeast look into the hall, where Vernon and Sybil stood to meet him, the former holding out his hand to welcome him, but he scarcely understood the action in that cold, proud man, and Sybil, taking the hand of each, placed them one within the other.

"I owe my life to you, William,” said Vernon in gentle tones,-" a young man of your age, and just entering manhood, needs sometimes a helping hand to lead him on to success; you must look upon me as your friend, and tell me your wants. Would you like to go to the city and earn a livelihood there, or would you rather be advanced to some station of trust here in the country? Only let me know your wishes and they shall be gratified, by one who, when in a passionate mood, was not generous enough to make an allowance for a first youthful fault."

A thrill swept through the chords of Sybil's heart;-surely this was not the Vernon she had known, once so unforgiving and tyrannical, nor did she wonder at the glow of pride that lit the upturned face of the lad as he listened to Vernon's noble words.

"You thought that you were acting right," returned he, and so did your duty, sometimes I think, for the best, too; for it was my punishment, after all, that led Miss Gray to our cottage, and we have all been better and happier since she came. I would thank you, sir, not to allude to a reward for an act which any one with courage would have done; there is only one thing that I desire, and that is, that you would forget that I ever lost sight of my duty so far as to stoop to the wicked ways of a thief."

"I will forget it," said Vernon warmly, only to remember that you are a noble and worthy being, and that you may count upon me as your friend for life."

Sybil lay down to rest that night with a grateful, happy heart, for besides the

conquest which she felt that Vernon had made over himself, he had empowered her to have the widow and her family removed to a comfortable cottage upon his own land, and William, besides overseeing his employer's affairs, was to be presented with a little farm which would yield him a certain income.

And Sybil, Sybil, was to be the Lady Bountiful, through whom the grand changes were to come to pass. No wonder that golden visions floated about her in her dreams, and that her day thoughts were surrounded with a rosy halo, for she was tasting a new pleasure, and that through Vernon's kindness, the luxury of practically doing good.

CHAPTER XI.

Oh! watch me, watch me still
Thro' the long night's dreary hours;
Uphold, by thy firm will,

Worn Nature's sinking powers.

While yet thy face is there,

(The loose locks round it flying,) So young, and fresh and fair, I feel not I am dying.

But while those pitying eyes
Are bending thus above me,
In vain the death-dews rise,-

Thou dost regret and love me!

Thy fond and pitying smile

Shall soothe my painful waking,
Thy voice shall cheer me, while

The slow gray dawn is breaking.
[Mrs. Norton.

The shock that Vernon had sustained, together with his sleep in the damp neighbourhood of the spring, were more disastrous in their consequences than could at first have been imagined; for one afternoon shortly after, when Sybil came into the parlor equipped for a walk, she found him lying upon a couch with a flush like that of fever upon his face. He was seldom ill, and his powerful frame and strong athletic limbs looked as if they could not be bound by the chords of sick. ness; but while Sybil looked at him and

heard his heavy, irregular breathing as he lay with contracted brow, she intuitively felt that he was suffering, and questioned him. Vernon acknowledged a dull pain in his head and a burning thirst, treating the matter lightly, and making his usual preparations for his evening stroll, but a sudden faintness overtook him, and towards night his ill feelings so continued to increase, that he himself at last proposed to send for medical aid.

The physician at once declared that he was very sick, and that he required the most attentive care, and thus a new office devolved upon Sybil, who placed herself under the teaching of the housekeeper who was an excellent nurse and had attended Vernon in his former illness. With untiring footsteps she passed from her grandmother's room to his, and with her gentle ministrations relieved them both, winning many a word of approval from the more experienced nurse, who was glad of the young eyes and hopeful nature of Sybil to bear her company. The responsibility increased each moment, for Vernon grew rapidly ill, the fever raging with unabating violence, until at last he sank into utter unconsciousness.

To such anxiety of mind as Sybil now felt, she was a stranger, and the new experience bewildered her, and though she did not at first know the extent of the danger of her friend and guardian, she felt that such an illness was a terrible thing, and her heart was sorely troubled for the strong, proud man who lay bereft of strength and pride, and with unfailing patience she watched and waited upon him. Sometimes she thought that if ever there could be a return for all the benefits which she had received from him, the hour had come to give it, and that devotion on her part would be but a proper offering in exchange; but her motive at other times for thus expending her energies in watching day and night at his bed-side, was only what any sick and suffering fellow-creature might expect, namely, Christian kindness and sympathy.

Up to the time of his unconsciousness

he was only content when she was in his presence, and was restless and complaining when she left the room to attend to her grandmother's wants, but now that restlessness was over, the stupor which had succeeded was oblivion to all that was passing around, and at this stage of his illness Sybil had a new and unexpected trial.

The physician, who was a kind and fatherly man, called her to him one day when she thought that Vernon, from some new symptoms which had appeared, more than ever required her watchful vigils, and gently laying his hand upon her fair, young head, told her that it was early in life for such trials to fall to her lot, but that he must prepare her for the worst by informing her that in all human probability Vernon would die. The disease had baffled his skill, and although he would try every endeavor to save his patient's life, still, unless some almost miraculous intervention, which he could not foresee then, interposed in the natural order of events, he said, that his patient must shortly breathe his last. He then dictated a letter to her which he told her she must send at once to Isabel, acquainting her with the sad intelligence, but informing her at the same time that it would be useless in her to attempt to see her brother, as should the worst happen, it would be before she could arrive at Vernon Grove. The physician knew something of Isabel's character, and felt, even had there been time, how out of place she would be by the sick man's couch, with her restlessness and worldly thou oughts and manners.

Poor Sybil, she received the dreadful intelligence with a cold chill which made her speechless, but the conviction that if she were not calm, and did she not put on a courage which she was far from feeling, there would be none to act, gave to her appearance a quiet dignity which even deceived the kind-hearted physician, who called her a heroine, and praised her selfpossession; but could he have seen her a moment after he left her, with a deathlike pallor on her countenance, and have heard the simple ejaculation, "God help me," which burst from her white and

quivering lips, he would scarcely have called her a heroine then.

Still he might live, hope whispered, and if human care and attention can avail, he must live, she said to herself, even if her own strength and life were to ebb away by the side of Vernon's couch, What mattered it if he woke from that death-like stupor to find her dead; ay, what mattered it? Had he not made the world beautiful to her by his teachings, his sympathy; what would it be without him? Thus Sybil reasoned in behalf of her teacher, her benefactor, her brother, her friend.

The physician had told her that there was a crisis in his disease, on the other side of which lay either life or death; scarcely the former, however, and almost certainly the latter; should he die, he would pass away quietly and gently into another state of being, like a child going into a slumber, for there was no strength within him to do battle with the grim tyrant; but should he live, as quietly would he wake again to earth and its many trials, and as long as there was a ray of hope Sybil's hope was strong. She could not, would not, believe that Vernon was about to pass away from her sight forever; she shuddered, too, at the thought of how ill prepared he was for such a change, and fervent prayers for his recovery were unceasingly upon her lips.

On the morning after her conversation with the physician, death indeed seemed to have the mastery over life upon the body of the unconscious invalid, for his high, white brow was whiter than before, and his hands seemed like ice within her own, but even then, when almost hoping against hope, a prayer burst from her lips in the fulness of her heart, and with a passion and energy which were almost foreign to her calm equable temperament, she interceded for the life of her guardian.

"Oh, God," she said, in the simple language of her guileless heart, "spare him, spare him who has been to me a friend, guide, teacher, who has work upon earth yet to do, and who, though shut out from Thy blessed light, still sympathises with those who enjoy what is denied to him. If Thou dost take him he is in Thy