streets for sixpence, and she was busy
trimming them into some shape and order as
she advanced. She reached the door of
Arthur's lodgings before they turned; and,
just as she got to the step and seemed about
to ring, she descried them in the distance.
Spy that I was, I detected the blush that
fired her face, and the quick smile of pleasure
with which she went to meet them as they
returned. Arthur took the flowers listlessly.
I could see that he was getting beyond any
strong feelings of pleasure or pain, through
sheer debility. In fact, he was melting away
in the flame of consumption as rapidly—to
use a homely saying—as a candle lighted at
both ends. I wondered, more than once,
whether Georgie was blind to his state; for she
still seemed as cheerful as ever, and still wore
that calm, good expression which I have
mentioned before as characteristic of her. I believe
she was quite in the dark, or else so full of
hope that she could not and would not admit a
sad presentiment. Arthur stood silent and
tired, while Robert and she spoke to each
other; and, after a minute or two, he grew
impatient and would go indoors. I thought
Georgie looked chagrined as the door shut,
and she was left outside. I could not quite
interpret that bit. She remained hesitating
a second or two, and then started very
quickly—as if she had forgotten something,—
back in the direction from which she had
come.

Sometimes in my romances I should like to
alter the few certainties that impose themselves
as checks on my fancy. I would fain
alter here, for instance, and make out that
Robert fell instantaneously in love with
Georgie, and that poor Arthur was only a
cousin for whom she had a quiet, sisterly
affection, and nothing more,—but I cannot.
They were surely lovers, whose hearts were
each bound up in the other, and there was a
parting preparing for them, such as had
severed my darling and me.

The Thursday after the little incident of
the moss-roses I missed Georgie for the first
time. Could she have passed by earlier, I
asked myself? I was certainly late for breakfast.
On the following Saturday it was
the same. "She has given up her pupil in
this direction, or she is ill," I said; but the
next week I watched, with an anxiety
that quickened every pulse, for her coming.
I took up my post on the settee
early, and kept my eye on the corner;
but never saw her. On the succeeding
Saturday I almost gave up my hope; for she
was still absent, and I lost many an hour in
devising explanations why. But the following
Thursday my romance was continued. When
I went into my sitting-room and threw up
the window I saw the thin, pale hand of
my opposite neighbour holding back the
curtain of the window as he lay on his bed
and presently Georgie went by on my side,
that his eyes might, for a moment, be cheered
as he saw her pass. After that, I often
saw the wan face of Arthur at the glass,
and sometimes Robert's healthy brown
visage beside it. One afternoon, Georgie
came, as it were, stealthily to the door
and rang the bell. She had a little basket
and some flowers which she gave to the
woman of the house, with whom she spoke
for a while, and then she went away very
grave, downcast, sad. I was sure that she
knew at last.

Every day now, two incidents recurred
regularly. One, was the arrival of the doctor
in his green chariot; the other, the arrival of
Georgie with her little basket and her nosegay
of flowers. She always went indoors
and stayed—sometimes only a few minutes,
sometimes an hour or more. At this time
my romance got a new light, or rather a
new shadow. I began to think that Arthur
was all Georgie had in the world; for nobody
ever came with her: nobody ever spoke to
her, but the woman of the house, and
Robert.

Occasionally Robert would come out with
her on the door-step, and they would converse
together for a little while. It was about
Arthur, I knew, from their serious looks and
glances up to the room where he lay. I
cannot tell how much I felt for Georgie, in
the loneliness by which my imagination
surrounded her. I began to see in Arthur many
virtues, many merits, which must have made
her love him, that I had never seen in him
before. His wan face looked patient, his great
brow more spiritual than ever, and I was
sure she would cling to him with a keener
affection as she beheld him passing away.
Did I not remember how it had been with me
and Nelly!

I suppose when death comes amongst us;
no matter how long we have been warned;
how long we have used ourselves to think
that he might knock at our door any
day—his coming appears sudden,—
unexpected. I rose one morning as usual; and,
on looking at the opposite house, saw that
the shutters were closed and the blinds all
down. Arthur, then, was dead. The milkman
came to the door, the baker, the postman
with his letters—letters for a dead
man.

It was Thursday morning. Georgie would
pass early. A little before nine she came,
ran swiftly up the house-steps and rang. At the
same moment, advanced in another direction,
the man with the board on which the dead
are laid. He was but just gone, then! Georgie
stood by to let him pass in before her, and I
saw the shiver that ran through her frame
as she watched him up the stairs, and thought
what he was going to do. Robert came out
to her; his manly face, grief-stricken and
pale, was writhing as he recounted to her,
perhaps, some dying message from Arthur,
perhaps some last token of his love—I know
not what.