exclamation which rose to his lips, and after looking for a moment with a scrutinising glance in James Gordon's face, quietly tendered his own services; and the young man was at once conveyed into the hotel, and laid on a couch in one of its most comfortable apartments. Then the stranger withdrew, promising to return immediately with a competent doctor.

The door had scarcely closed upon him, when Herbert's cheek assumed a more natural hue; and he began to show symptoms of returning consciousness.

"You are better now, sir," said James Gordon, in a voice of much feeling, as he opened his eyes, and regarded him with a look of recognition.

The young man smiled faintly, and tried to raise himself in order to discover where he was; but he quickly relinquished the attempt, and put his hand to his head, while an expression of intense suffering passed over his manly countenance.

"James," he said at length, speaking in feeble, hurried tones, "I must not remain here another moment."

"But, indeed, you must, sir," answered his companion, earnestly; "it would be madness for you to think of moving to-night. Perhaps by the morning"

"If I delay until then," interrupted Herbert, I shall probably be far worse."

"Oh, I hope not, sir," ejaculated the other, in a tone of keen anxiety.

"I feel sure that this attack is the precursor of some illness," continued Herbert," and the expense of staying here for an indefinite length of time under such circumstances, would be more than I could well afford."

James Gordon looked thoughtful. The idea of a Seymour having thus to calculate what his expenditure should be, seemed so strange to him, and at once thoroughly enlightened him as to Herbert's altered position.

"Do you understand me, James?" inquired Herbert, gently. "I do, sir," was the expressive answer.

"There are a few things I should like to say to you while I am able," rejoined the young man, presently, and he proceeded to enter into some particulars which it was needful that James Gordon should be made acquainted with, and gave him one or two brief instructions how to act in the event of his apprehensions proving correct. "Now," he added wearily, closing his eyes, "I believe I must take your advice, my good friend, and leave everything in your hands, for I am totally unable to put forth any exertions on my own behalf, owing to this feeling of faintness which is again creeping over me." James Gordon became really alarmed on perceiving the deadly pallor which had once more settled on the young man's face; and, hastily ringing the bell, he desired that another doctor might be sent for; but, to his unbounded thankfulness, before his request could be carried into effect, the stranger returned, accompanied by the gentleman he had himself gone in search of.

While the latter was engaged in attending to Herbert, James Gordon watched his slightest movement with the greatest anxiety; and his anxiety seemed to be fully shared by the stranger: indeed, it would have been difficult for an impartial observer to have decided which

of the two felt the greatest interest in the case, or entertained the warmest affection for the object of their care and solicitude.

More than once James Gordon fancied that the stranger's eyes were fixed upon him with an earnest, inquiring gaze, as if he would fain discover how he came to be thus intimately acquainted with

Herbert.

At last he, the stranger, moved towards him, and asked in a low, suppressed voice, "Has Mr. Seymour any friends in Lanchester ? " "No, sir," replied James Gordon, looking up in visible surprise on hearing Herbert's name so confidently mentioned; none at least," he added, correcting himself, "that I am aware of."

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Might I, without appearing intrusive, ask you in what way you are connected with him?" inquired the other, with a slightly embarrassed air.

For the space of a few seconds, James Gordon hesitated; then he answered calmly-a sudden light breaking over his face

"I shall be obliged by your regarding me as Mr. Seymour's servant."

"I am sure you are attached to him," observed the gentleman, thoughtfully.

You are right, sir. I owe him more than I can express."

"And I," cried the stranger, eagerly; but he hastily checked himself; and, glancing at Herbert, who still lay in a state of semi-unconsciousness, added in a different tone, "Do you not think it would be well for me to inform his father?"

"No, no, sir," interrupted James Gordon, hurriedly; "I have been particularly warned against taking this step."

"Ah! "exclaimed his companion, looking keenly at him. "Is Mr. Seymour as unreasonable and despotic as ever?" he asked in a lower key; "I mean of course the father."

"Far worse," was his companion's reply.

"Your friend is sleeping now, Sir Edward," said the doctor, softly, approaching them.

"Then you really know Mr. Herbert," observed James Gordon, in a voice of pleased surprise; for the stranger's frank and gentlemanly aspect had already produced a favourable impression_upon him.

Yes, thank God," was the fervent response. I do know him. But for the disinterested generosity of his noble nature-the bravery and heroism which led him to perform an action such as few would have attempted-I should not now have been here. He saved my life at the risk of his own!"

CHAPTER XXVIII.

RETURNED CONSCIOUSNESS, AND A RELAPSE.

"How wild and dim this life appears!

One long, deep, heavy sigh,

When o'er our eyes, half closed in tears,
The images of former years

Are faintly glittering by!"

PROFESSOR WILSON.

WHEN James Gordon mentioned Herbert's wish to be at once removed to his own cottage in the outskirts of the town, the doctor expressed his decided disapproval of the plan, and said he would not be answerable for the consequences, should it be carried into execution.

This caused the former no little perplexity, besides placing him in a very awkward position; for he could not, of course, without entering into at least a partial explanation of Herbert's affairs, offer any satisfactory reason for his unwillingness to remain in the hotel longer than was absolutely necessary.

After a lengthened consultation, however, it was finally arranged that the young man should be immediately conveyed to the house of Sir Edward Stanley, who, as my readers will have already conjectured, proved to be no other than the lad whose life Herbert had been instrumental in saving while they were both staying at B—. Accordingly he was lifted into a carriage which had in the meantime been prepared for him under Sir Edward's careful superintendence, and slowly driven to the latter's residence, where he was surrounded with every comfort, and kindly and tenderly nursed during the long and serious illness that followed.

For his own expectations were unfortunately verified. An alarming fever succeeded the first painful attack of mental and physical prostration, and for a whole fortnight his life was despaired of.

At the end of that period, the doctor-who had been watching the case with extreme anxiety, and was most assiduous in his attendance, instead of evading Sir Edward's eager questions, or merely answering them by an ominous shake of the head as he had hitherto done, informed him that some of the worst symptoms having subsided, he could now speak with comparative hopefulness of Herbert's ultimate

recovery.

"There has been a severe and protracted struggle between life and death," added the doctor, gravely; "and, unless your friend had possessed a remarkably strong and vigorous constitution, he must certainly have succumbed, in spite of all human skill."

"He is still insensible," remarked Sir Edward, anxiously.

"True; but I have reason to believe that as the delirium has quite ceased he will soon be restored to consciousness: although I must warn you, that in consequence of the terrible shock his whole system has sustained, his progress towards convalescence will probably be very slow and variable."

And the doctor was right; for on the evening of the following day a

change came over Herbert's features; signs of returning consciousness began to be visible upon the pale, wasted countenance, that had already seemed to be stamped with the impress of death; and after a slight fluttering movement of the hand, and a scarcely perceptible contraction of the brow, his eyes opened and wandered round the room, as if searching for some familiar object.

But everything was strange to him, from the large well-furnished apartment-half sleeping, half sitting room-with its deep oriel windows, one of which opened into a small conservatory filled with the choicest flowers, to the stately-looking widow lady, who sat in an easy-chair at some distance from the bed, her small white hand resting negligently upon the open page of a book lying on her lap, and her eyes gazing fixedly into the fire.

Unbroken silence reigned in that sick room for a minute; then Herbert sighed heavily, for even the momentary exertion of thinking was too much for him in his present enfeebled state. The lady looked quickly up as she caught the sound, and rising from her seat noiselessly approached the bed. Herbert regarded her with a wondering, confused look, and was about to speak; but after glancing at him she suddenly turned and left the room, and directly afterwards James Gordon took her place.

"Is that you, James?" said Herbert, a pleased expression coming over his face.

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It is, sir," replied the other, feeling almost overpowered with joy and gratitude at seeing his beloved friend once more restored to sense and reason.

"I thought I must be dreaming," continued Herbert, in a faint voice; have I been long ill?".

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"Yes; but you will soon get up your strength now, sir."

Nothing more passed between them that night; for the experienced nurse, who had been recruiting her exhausted frame by taking a few hours' rest in another part of the house, now came to resume her accustomed duties in the sick chamber: and, by an imperative gesture, prevented James Gordon from seeking to carry on the conversation; and Herbert, finding himself already much fatigued, obediently swallowed the draught she offered him, and almost immediately fell into a calm, refreshing slumber.

When he awoke, it was morning-a beautiful spring morning.

The nurse had disappeared, but James Gordon and Sir Edward Stanley were both in the room, although the latter could not at once be perceived, in consequence of his being partially hidden by one of the curtains.

"James," said Herbert, quite unconscious that the apartment had any other occupant, "I want you to tell me where we are.'

"You remember being taken ill when you first arrived at Lanchester," observed the other gently.

"Yes: but this house? everything seems so strange to me. And the lady I saw last night-who is she, James?"

"She is the mother of an old friend of yours-Sir Edward Stanleyand it is in her house we are staying."

"Edward Stanley," returned Herbert, musingly.

"Sir Edward,"

he repeated, looking questioningly at his companion; "I certainly have a dim perception of having occasionally seen a face here not altogether unknown to me, but

"You surely have not forgotten me, Herbert?" exclaimed Sir Edward, wholly unable to restrain himself longer. "Did you not hear," he went on in an explanatory tone, "of the death of my dear father?"

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No," whispered Herbert, feebly returning the pressure of his friend's hand; "but I can feel for you, my poor Edward, for I too❞— he softly murmured to himself—“ have lost a father, though not by death."

A shade of intense gravity overshadowed his pallid countenance, as he thus alluded to his own desolate condition; and Sir Edward exchanged a significant glance with James Gordon, while he laid his hand lightly upon Herbert's forehead, with a mute expression of sympathy and affection.

Fortunately the entrance of the doctor put a stop to the conversation, which might otherwise soon have merged into some exciting topic; and it was not renewed until the evening, when, at Herbert's request, Sir Edward entered into fuller details of all that had occurred since the commencement of his illness.

"I shall never be able to repay you for the trouble and anxiety I have caused you," said Herbert, after silently listening to his explanation.

"Ah, you would not speak to me in this strain, Herbert, if you had any conception of the thankfulness with which I hailed the opportunity of being of use to you," returned the other, in a voice of deep earnestness. "Have you yet to learn," he added tremulously, "that the devotion of a lifetime would scarcely suffice to cancel the debt I- 99

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Pray do not again allude to that subject," interposed Herbert, hastily. "I only did what you or any other person similarly circumstanced would have done; and it gives me no pleasure to be reminded of it."

"Oh, your brave magnanimous spirit naturally leads you to make light of it; but I cannot so easily forget."

"I would not have you forget," said his sick friend, slowly and seriously. "God's preserving mercy, on the occasion to which you refer, well deserves to be had in continual remembrance-thank Him, dear Edward."

"I do," was the low-spoken, though fervent response.

Herbert looked at him for a minute or two without speaking, his countenance, meanwhile, assuming a grave, thoughtful expression; then laying his hand kindly upon Sir Edward's, he asked, in those gentle winning tones which had so often found their way into the hearts of others,

"Do you belong to Him, Stanley? Are you one of His servants?" "Oh," replied Sir Edward, with a deep-drawn breath, and a wistful, eager gaze, "I hope so; but " He paused.

"Is there any doubt?" inquired Herbert, almost in a whisper. The young man gave utterance to a weary sigh, while his cheek flushed painfully, and he seemed for half a second to be battling with his natural timid irresolution and reserve.

"I scarcely know how to answer you," he said at length, in a low, agitated voice-carefully avoiding Herbert's eye—“ my experience is such a strange and varied one."

"Varied it must of course be," said Herbert, with an encouraging