And she said, every now and then, that she felt ’so much better—­so much stronger,’ and made old Sally sit by her, and talk to her, and smiled so happily, and there again were all her droll engaging little ways.  And when the good rector came in, that evening, she welcomed him in the old pleasant way:  though she could not run out, as in other times, when she heard his foot on the steps, to meet him at the door, and there was such a beautiful colour in her clear, thin cheeks, and she sang his favourite little song for him, just one verse, with the clear, rich voice he loved so well, and then tired.  The voice remained in his ears long after, and often came again, and that little song, in lonely reveries, while he sat listening, in long silence, and twilight, a swan’s song.

’You see, your little Lily is growing quite well again.  I feel so much better.’

There was such a childish sunshine in her smile, his trembling heart believed it.

‘Oh! little Lily, my darling!’ he stopped—­he was crying, and yet delighted.  Smiling all the time, and crying, and through it a little laugh, as if he had waked from a dream of having lost her, and found her there—­his treasure—­safe.  ’If anything happened to little Lily, I think the poor old man’—­and the sentence was not finished; and, after a little pause, he said, quite cheerily—­’But I knew the spring would bring her back.  I knew it, and here she is; the light of the house; little Lily, my treasure.’

And so he blessed and kissed her, and blessed her again, with all his fervent soul, laying his old hand lightly on her fair young head; and when she went up for the night, with gentle old Sally, and he heard her room door shut, he closed his own, and kneeling down, with clasped hands and streaming eyes, in a rapture of gratitude, he poured forth his thanksgivings before the Throne of all Mercies.

These outpourings of gratitude, all premature, for blessings not real but imagined, are not vain.  They are not thrown away upon that glorious and marvellous God who draws near to all who will draw near to Him, reciprocates every emotion of our love with a tenderness literally parental, and is delighted with his creatures’ appreciation of his affection and his trustworthiness; who knows whereof we are made, and remembers that we are but dust, and is our faithful Creator.  Therefore, friend, though thou fearest a shadow, thy prayer is not wasted; though thou rejoicest in an illusion, thy thanksgiving is not in vain.  They are the expressions of thy faith recorded in Heaven, and counted—­oh! marvellous love and compassion!—­to thee for righteousness.

CHAPTER LXXX.

IN WHICH TWO ACQUAINTANCES BECOME, ON A SUDDEN, MARVELLOUSLY FRIENDLY IN THE CHURCH-YARD; AND MR. DANGERFIELD SMOKES A PIPE IN THE BRASS CASTLE, AND RESOLVES THAT THE DUMB SHALL SPEAK.

On Sunday, Mervyn, after the good doctor’s sermon and benediction, wishing to make enquiry of the rector touching the movements of his clerk, whose place was provisionally supplied by a corpulent and unctuous mercenary from Dublin, whose fat presence and panting delivery were in signal contrast with the lank figure and deep cavernous tones of the absent official, loitered in the church-yard to allow time for the congregation to disperse, and the parson to disrobe and emerge.