CHAPTER LV.

SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERSITY.

SOON after reading Mr. Shield's letter, Madge walked to Ringsford with Pansy. There had been a thaw during the night, and the meadows and the ploughed lands were transformed into sheets of dirty grey, dirty blue, and reddish slush, according to the character of the soil, dotted with patches of snow like the ghosts of islets in a lake of puddle. But the red sun had a frosty veil on his face; byand-by this puddle would be glazed with ice, and the heavy drops of melting snow which were falling slowly from the trees would become glittering crystal pendants to their branches.

The two girls, their cheeks tingling with the bite of the east wind, tramped bravely through the slush, with no greater sense of

inconvenience than was caused by the fact that they would be obliged to perform the journey by the road instead of taking the short-cut through the Forest. They wore stout boots, suitable for all weathers, but not suitable for the young ladies whose pitiful vanity induces them to submit to inconvenience and physical pain in order to win the casual admiration of fools.

They spoke little, for each was occupied with her own troublous thoughts; Pansy did not know much of the sources of her friend's anxieties, and Madge had already exhausted the consolation she could offer to her companion. On arriving at Ringsford they found Sam Culver attending to his plants and greenhouses as methodically as if the mansion stood as sound as ever it had done, and the daily supply of fruit and flowers would be required as usual.

"You see, things maun go on in the ordinary way, no matter what happens," he explained. "Plants winna stop growing, and will want tending so long as they are to

the fore, though the whole of London was in a bleeze. They're just like living bodies; and them that come safe through a frost or a fire, want to eat and drink the same as though there was nothing wrong wi' their neighbours. Eh, sirs, its a wonderful dispensation, that though ae half the flowers grow wrang, the ither half comes up bonnie and fresh-especially the geraaniums."

Madge left Pansy with her father, and went on to the cottage. In the kitchen she found Miss Hadleigh fast asleep in the gardener's big armchair. She would have left the room without disturbing her, but at that moment Miss Hadleigh yawned and awakened.

"Don't go away-I am not sleeping." (Yawn.) "Oh, it's you, Madge. Isn't this a dreadful state of things? I haven't had a wink of sleep for two nights, and feel as if I should drop on the floor in hysterics, or go off into a fever."

Miss Hadleigh had been relieved by a good many "winks" during the period specified,

although, like many other nurses, she was convinced that she had not closed her eyes all the time. Madge accepted the assertion literally, and was instantly all eagerness to relieve her.

"You must get away to

once, and take a proper rest.

Willowmere at

You are not to

refuse, for I will take your place here and do whatever may be required. You are looking so ill, Beatrice, that I am sure Philip and— somebody else would consider me an unfeeling creature if I allowed you to stay any longer."

"But it is my duty to stay, dear," said Miss Hadleigh a little faintly, for she did not like to hear that she was looking ill.

"And it is my duty to relieve you. Besides, Dr. Joy has given us some hope that it may be safe to remove your father to our house to-day; and then you will be there refreshed and ready to receive him."

"I suppose you are right-I am not fit for much at present," said Miss Hadleigh languidly; "and you can do everything for

him a great deal better than me. But I must wait till Philip comes-he promised to be here early."

"You have heard from him, then?"

"Heard from him!-he was here last night as soon as he could get away from that nasty business he has been swindled into by our nice Uncle Shield. He ought to have taken poor papa's advice at the beginning, and have had nothing to do with him.”

This was uttered so spitefully, that it seemed as if there were an undercurrent of satisfaction in the young lady's mind at finding the rich uncle who would only acknowledge one member of the family, had turned out a deceiver.

Madge was astonished and chagrined by the information that Philip had been out on the previous evening and had made no sign to her; but in the prospect of seeing him soon, she put the chagrin aside, remembering how harassed he was at this juncture in his affairs. There should be no silly lovers' quarrel between them, if she could help it.