A round of applause greeted Charlie's speech and amid the general confusion Marguerite made a hasty retreat.

Mrs. Verne's voice could still be heard but with increasing distinctness and her marked flattery was painfully distressing, but the girl was careful to avoid the trying ordeal.

"Eve's letter must be written before I sleep," and instantly Marguerite was seated in Cousin Jennie's room, where a bright fire glowed in the grate and everything looked bright and cheerful as the maiden herself.

"No gloom can come in here," said the girl in a manner that showed that she was trying to fortify herself against intruding thoughts.

"Hubert was kind to Eve, she will surely mourn for him. He was more attentive than Montague, and I believe had more sympathy."

It was well for Marguerite that she was ignorant of her sister's sadly altered condition. As she pens the lines she fervently prays that Montague Arnold may take warning from his friend's sad fate and that Evelyn may feel more interested in her husband and give less concern to the fogies and recklessness of fashionable society.

Mr. Verne's condition now appeared more favorable. Marguerite was buoyed up by the thought that it was almost impossible that her father could be taken away from her. "A kind Providence sees fit to restore him to us," murmured she as the door closed upon the venerable benign countenance of their much endeared physician. But the latter did not hold out false hope. When questioned as to his opinion he spoke kindly and said that he was doing all that could be done.

Another week had flown, and Sat.u.r.day night was ushered in with a quiet that was inspiring, reminding one most forcibly of the lines:

"The cheerfu sapper down, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle form a circle wide, The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace The big ha' Bible, once his father's pride."

Though Sat.u.r.day night at "Sunnybank" presented a different scene the faithful picture was often presented to Mr. Verne in a way that filled his soul with a deep religious fervour and inspired him with a filial reverence for the time-honored custom of his worthy ancestors.

But of the present. Marguerite had been reading from the _Church Witness_, and having finished her task or rather pleasure, sat down upon a low stool beside the grate, gazing upon the red hot coals with a far off look in her violet eyes!

"Has Phillip been here to-day, my dear?" asked Mr. Verne arousing Marguerite from her reverie.

"Not to-day, papa."

"I would like to see him this evening."

"James can go for him if you wish, papa."

"Very well, dear, just say that I wish to see him, if at all possible."

Marguerite glanced at the tiny alarm clock that stood on the table.

It was nearly eight o'clock, and in all probability Mr. Lawson might not be found at home, but she gave the message to the trusty errand boy, and once more was installed as watcher in the sick room, having an uncomfortable dread of meeting the expectant visitor.

"James has indeed been successful, papa," cried the girl as she heard the well-known footsteps in the corridor, then hastily added, "I shall be in the library, papa. You can ring when I am needed."

Marguerite had not gone many steps when she stood face to face with Phillip Lawson.

Despite her efforts to appear calm the flushed cheeks were a sad tell tale.

She reached out her hand in a friendly way but seemed nervous and embarra.s.sing, a circ.u.mstance which might easily be ascribed to the painful anxiety that at times possessed her.

"Papa seemed so anxious that I proposed sending for you," said Marguerite in her winning gentle way.

"I am glad that you did, Miss Verne; I was just leaving the house as the message arrived."

Mr. Lawson was soon seated beside his old friend.

The latter, within the last few moments, had become much excited and the young man felt uneasy.

Mr. Verne, having divined the latter's thoughts, exclaimed, "Don't be alarmed Phillip, I have much to say before we are through. This may be the last opportunity--the very last."

"Never mind sir, you're worth a dozen dead men yet," said Mr. Lawson in a cheerful voice.

But the effect was lost upon the dying man.

"Phillip Lawson," said he, his voice calm and distinct, "I have asked G.o.d to give me strength to-night and I have not asked in vain.

He has been good and merciful to me through it all and on this bed of affliction I have made my peace with Him."

A tear shone in the listener's eye and fell upon the floor.

"G.o.d has indeed been good to me. He has revealed Himself in a number of ways. Not once has He withheld His hand. The plots of the wicked have been frustrated. When their hands were lifted against me He laid them low in the dust. Ah Phillip, I have much to be grateful for."

Mr. Verne then pointed to a small box which Phillip brought to his bedside, when a small key was produced.

"Take this," said he, "and on opening the lower drawer on the right side of my desk you will see a miniature j.a.panese cabinet. Bring it to me."

Mr. Lawson did as requested, and with trembling hands Mr. Verne drew forth a paper which he pa.s.sed to the young lawyer.

"There is a doc.u.ment, which doubtless you have seen before, at least I always thought so," said Mr. Verne, eyeing his friend with eager look.

"I have indeed, sir, but never would have thought of it being in your possession."

It is needless to add the explanation that followed, the reader being well acquainted with the facts, but we can try to imagine the joy that leaped into Phillip Lawson's heart.

Never within so short a time was realized more true happiness.

"Mr. Lawson," said Mr. Verne, "I want to say a few more words. I feel that my days are nearly numbered, and that soon my voice will be silent. It is, indeed, a painful subject, but duty demands it.

Ah! Phillip, what man would have acted towards that unfortunate youth as you have done. Yours is a generosity that is seldom met with."

Mr. Verne seemed for a moment lost in deep thought, then exclaimed: "Ah! Phillip, G.o.d's ways are wonderful. Let us thank Him that the barriers are broken down--that ere long you may possess the rarest treasure that this earth can give."

Mr. Verne's voice sank into a deep whisper as he uttered the solemn invocation:

"And now may the G.o.d of Abraham, the G.o.d of Isaac, and the G.o.d of Jacob, rest upon thee forever my son."

The icy fingers which had lain within those of the other, now relaxed their hold.

Mr. Lawson seeing that the man was growing weaker, made an excuse to leave.

"Phillip," said Mr. Verne in a hoa.r.s.e tone, "When I have laid in my grave for three months I want you to show my child that doc.u.ment.

Then plead your suit, and if from my home above it be possible that it is granted me to witness the scene, I shall pray for you both.

Yes, Phillip, the prayer of an invisible presence shall light upon you and crown you with a happiness, that will have no end."

CHAPTER XL.