“If you are right in that, which I very much doubt,” he said with a smile of incredulity, “it only shows their want of taste, and makes no difference to us, does it, love, since we are all the world to each other?”

“I am sure it makes no difference to me,” she responded:  “if you love, and are pleased with, me, it’s very little I care what anybody else may think or say about me.  But, oh! isn’t it nice to be alone together again?”

“Very nice.”

“And remember, you are to make all possible use of me,—­as nurse, reader,—­when you feel that you would like to listen to book or news-paper,—­as amanuensis, every thing.”

“Yes, dearest, I expect to employ you in all those capacities by and by; but at present, I want nothing but to have you sit by my side, and talk to me, while I hold your hand, and feast my eyes on the face that is to me the dearest in all the world.”

At that, the pretty face was suffused with blushes and smiles.  “I’m so happy! so very happy!” she murmured, stealing an arm round his neck.  “It is such a change from yesterday, when for a little while, I—­I thought you—­were gone, and—­and without my having had a chance to ask your forgiveness.”

The sobs came thick and fast as she went on.  “O Ned! dear, dear Ned!  I—­I don’t mean ever to be cross to you again, especially when we are going to part even for an hour.”

“No,” he said, with emotion, and drawing her closer to him; “we should not have parted so; we had promised each other we would not; and I should have gone to you and made it up with you before leaving the house.”

“It was all my fault,” she sobbed; “and if—­if you had been taken from me, I could never have had another happy moment.”

“Thank God that we are spared to each other!” he said with fervent gratitude.  “And now, dear wife, let us try to forget that there has been ever any coldness or clashing between us.  Let us enjoy the present, and be as happy in each other as if no cloud, even the slightest, had ever come over our intercourse as husband and wife.”

“Yes,” she said.  Then, lifting her face, and gazing earnestly into his, “How pale and exhausted you look!” she cried in alarm.  “I have talked, and let you talk, too much and too excitingly.  I’m afraid cousin Arthur will say I am but a poor sort of nurse.  Now,” withdrawing herself from his embrace, and gently re-arranging his pillows, and smoothing the bed-clothes, “shut your eyes, and try to sleep.  I’ll stay close beside you, and be as quiet as a mouse.”

With a faint smile, he did as he was bidden; and she fulfilled her promise to the letter, watching beside him with love and solicitude for two hours, till his eyes again unclosed, and met hers, gazing so tenderly upon him, with an answering look of ardent affection.

“You have had a good nap, and look quite refreshed, dear,” she said, bending over him, and softly stroking his hair with her little white hand.