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CHAPTER VI.

WHAT MARIAN TOLD BASIL UNDER THE HAWTHORN

TREE.

"Father, Thou hast patience long

With the sick and weak;

Heal us, make us brave and strong,
Words of comfort speak."

Lyra Germanica.

Ir was a time of great anxiety which followed. Harry, Edgar, and Marian were taken away from the infection by Mr. Trevor; Julia remained to take care of the house while her mother was engaged in nursing the sick children. It was considered a risk to move Basil, so he also remained at home, and shared in the general anxiety. Francis, who was to have come back for his holidays on the very day that the fever showed itself, was desired by telegraph to go to his uncle's house instead.

Tottie went on very favourably from the first, and seemed likely to recover; but with Edith it was different. Day after day went by, and she grew steadily worse. Dr. Stanleigh grew exceedingly anxious, and Mrs. Stanleigh felt, though he never

said it, that he had very little hope. She was generally delirious, and it was pitiful to hear the little voice crying out, as well as it was able through the parched lips and sore throat, "Papa, papa! come back to me. Are you here? Give me your hand to hold. Yes; I will be quiet, if you are only close to me. Papa, they don't love me here; but you do, and I love you."

Sometimes she would speak of the great trouble that was over her when she was taken ill, crying piteously to her father to believe her, that she "didn't do it."

Dr. Stanleigh could not understand how she persisted in this denial even in her unconsciousness, and began to wonder if he was really mistaken.

Basil was in great anxiety, for Edith was as dear to him as one of his own sisters; and it grieved him to think that she had parted from him in anger.

Julia went about the house looking very pale and sorrowful; and, though she was not admitted to either of the sick rooms, she was constantly watching near the doors to hear the last accounts, and get whatever was wanted.

The children from the Rectory were not allowed into the house; but they came to the garden, where, on warm days, Basil met them and told them the daily news of the sick ones.

One sultry afternoon, when he was sitting under

the hawthorn-tree in the middle of the grass-plot, Marian joined him.

"O Basil!" she cried, "what news to-day?"

"Edith is worse," he said sadly. "I can see my father does not think she will pull through, though he will not say so to me for fear of grieving me; but he is calling in further advice."

"That poor little Billy Grey is dead," said Marian, crying. "O Basil, do you think Edith will die?" "I cannot tell, Marian. We none of us know. Her poor father! Oh, how sad it is to think that he is so far away!

If-if she dies, what will he do? His only child, and they loved each other so much! Basil's eyes were full of tears as he spoke, and Marian threw herself down on the grass and hid her face.

"Don't, Marian, don't," said her brother; "perhaps she will get better; and, at any rate, we must be very thankful that Tottie is better. They are quite hopeful about him." But nothing that he could say could quiet Marian's grief. "Dear Marian, don't cry like that," he said gently, and he laid his hand on her bowed head as he spoke. "Maid Marian, cheer up! This is not your general brave spirit. Edith may live," he hesitated, hardly able to control his own voice, and then added, "and if not, oh, if she had only confessed about that! It makes me so miserable to think of her having that

S

falsehood on her mind. Oh, if she had only told any one about it! Marian, don't, don't." For his sister's sobs were more violent than ever.

"O Basil!" she cried, raising her terrified face for a moment.

"What is it, Marian? Is it about Edith? Perhaps she will yet be able to tell about it."

Marian caught his hand.

"Basil," she whispered, though half-choked with sobs. "Oh, if they would only punish me! I didn't think I could tell; but it's burning, burning in my heart; and Edith may die. It's all my fault. did it!"

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"Marian, Marian!" said Basil, much excited, and then a violent fit of coughing stopped him.

"What have I done, Basil?" said Marian, starting to her feet. "Oh, you mustn't! I have done you harm, too. Oh, how miserable I am!"

"It is nothing," said Basil, struggling for breath. "I shall be all right in a minute. Now, tell me all about it."

"Well, you see Edith was so unhappy about that bad mark, and I thought perhaps Miss Applecross would forget, and it was quite easy to alter it, and I was left alone with the mark-books on the table, and I did it; and then when it was all found out, and papa was so angry, I could not tell, and I often wanted to, and every day I thought

he would be more and more angry, and I didn't dare."

"O Marian, and you let that little stranger, who had no father or brothers to take her part, and nobody to believe in her, you let her be blamed for what you had done?"

"I am

"Basil, Basil, don't. I'm so miserable!" "And so am I," answered her brother. miserable that I should not have trusted and believed in her; but I did not think it could be one of you."

"And will you tell papa, Basil? because I shall not see him, and he must not go on blaming Edith."

"I will tell him. Don't cry so, Marian. Crying won't undo it. Only let us trust that Edith will get well that we may make amends for our cruelty to her."

"If I could but see her; if I could but get her to forgive me!" sobbed the unhappy Marian. "I meant it kindly, indeed I did."

"A mean, dishonourable action can never be a real kindness," said Basil. "I like everything to be clear and open as the day. You can't expect that any good will come of a shabby trick.”

Marian covered her face again.

"Basil, if Edith dies I shall never be happy again," she faltered.

“Oh, I hope, I hope she will get well!" said Basil earnestly; "I could not bear that she should