The little girl listened to him, and as she listened a new and wonderful strength was given to her. At that instant Evelyn Wynford ceased to be a child. She was never a child any more. The suffering and the shock had been too mighty; they had done for her what perhaps nothing else could ever do-they had awakened her slumbering soul.

How she lived through the remainder of that day she could never tell to any one. No one saw her in the Squire's sitting-room. No one wanted the room; no one went near it. Audrey was back again at the Castle, comforting her mother and trying to help her. When she spoke of Evelyn, Lady Frances shuddered.

"Don't mention her," she said. "She had the impertinence to rush into the room; but she also had the grace to--"

"What, mother?"

"She was really fond of her uncle, Audrey; I always said so. She fainted-poor, miserable girl-when she saw the state he was in."

But Lady Frances did not know of Evelyn's confession to the young doctor; nor did Dr. Watson tell any one.

It was late and the day had pa.s.sed into night when the doctor came in and sat down by Evelyn's side.

"Now," he said, "you have been good, and have kept your word, and have obliterated yourself."

She did not ask him the meaning of the word, although she did not understand it. She looked at him with the most pathetic face he had ever seen.

"Speak," she said. "Will he live?"

"Dr. Harland thinks so, and he is the very best authority in the world.

He hopes in a day or two to remove the pellets which have done the mischief. The danger, as I have already told you, lies in renewed hemorrhage; but that I hope we can prevent. Now, are you going to be a very good girl?"

"What can I do?" asked Evelyn. "Can I go to him and stay with him?"

"I wonder," said the doctor-"and yet," he added, "I scarcely like to propose it. There is a nurse there; your aunt is worn out. I will see what I can do."

"If I could do that it would save me," said Evelyn. "There never, never has been quite such a naughty girl; and I-I did it-oh! not meaning to hurt him, but I did it. Oh! it would save me if I might sit by him."

"I will see," said the doctor.

He felt strangely interested in this queer, erratic, lost-looking child.

He went back again to the sickroom. The Squire was conscious. He was lying in comparative ease on his bed; a trained nurse was within reach.

"Nurse," said the doctor.

The woman went with him across the room.

"I am going to stay here to-night."

"Yes, sir; I am glad to hear it."

"It is quite understood that Lady Frances is to have her night's rest?"

"Her ladyship is quite worn out, sir. She has gone away to her room. She will rest until two in the morning, when she will come down-stairs and help me to watch by the patient."

"Then I will sit with him until two o'clock," said the doctor. "At two o'clock I will lie down in the Squire's sitting-room, where I can be within call. Now, I want to make a request."

"Yes, sir."

"I am particularly anxious that a little girl who is in very great trouble, but who has learnt self-control, should come in and sit in the armchair by the Squire's side. She will not speak, but will sit there.

Is there any objection?"

"Is it the child, sir, who fainted when she came into the room to-day?"

"Yes; she was almost mad, poor little soul; but I think she is all right now, and she has learnt her lesson. Nurse, can you manage it?"

"It must be as you please, sir."

"Then I will risk it," said the doctor.

He went back to Evelyn, and said a few words to her.

"You must wash your face," he said, "and tidy yourself; and you must have a good meal."

Evelyn shook her head.

"If you do not do exactly what I tell you I cannot help you."

"Very well; I will eat and eat until you tell me to stop," she answered.

"Go, and be quick, then," said the doctor, "for we are arranging things for the night."

So Evelyn went, and returned in a few minutes; then the doctor took her hand and led her into the sickroom, and she sat by the side of the patient.

The room was very still-not a sound, not a movement. The sick man slept; Evelyn, with her eyes wide open, sat, not daring to move a finger.

What she thought of her past life during that time no one knows; but that soul within her was coming more and more to the surface. It was a strong soul, although it had been so long asleep, and already new desires, unselfish and beautiful, were awakening in the child. Between twelve and one that night the Squire opened his eyes and saw a little girl, with a white face and eyes big and dark, seated close to him.

He smiled, and his hand just went out a quarter of an inch to Evelyn.

She saw the movement, and immediately her own small fingers clasped his.

She bent down and kissed his hand.

"Uncle Edward, do not speak," she said. "It was I who loaded the gun.

You must get well, Uncle Edward, or I shall die."

He did not answer in any words, but his eyes smiled at her; and the next moment she had sunk back in her chair, relieved to her heart's core. Her eyes closed; she slept.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.-FOR UNCLE EDWARD'S SAKE.

The Squire was a shade better the next morning; but Mr. Leeson, not two miles away, lay at the point of death. Fever had claimed him for its prey, and he continued to be wildly delirious, and did not know in the least what he was doing. Thus two men, each unknown to the other, but who widely influenced the characters of this story, lay within the Great Shadow.

Evelyn Wynford continued to efface herself. This was the first time in her whole life she had ever done so; but when Lady Frances appeared, punctual to the hour, to take her place at her husband's side, the little girl glided from the room.

It was early on the following morning, when the mistress of the Castle was standing for a few bewildered moments in her sitting-room, her hand pressed to her forehead, her eyes looking across the landscape, tears dimming their brightness, that a child rushed into her presence.