It gave her confidence to venture on the one question on which she was bent.

Her father was in the hall, showing Norman his Greek nymph; and lifting her eyes to Dr.May's face, then casting them down, she coloured deeper than ever, as she said, in a stammering whisper, "Oh, please--if you would tell me--do you think--is papa very ill ?" Dr.May answered in his softest, most reassuring tones: "You need not be alarmed about him, I assure you.

You must keep him from too much business," he added, smiling; "make him ride with you, and not let him tire himself, and I am sure you can be his best doctor." "But do you think," said Meta, earnestly looking up--"do you think he will be quite well again ?" "You must not expect doctors to be absolute oracles," said he.

"I will tell you what I told him--I hardly think his will ever be sound health again, but I see no reason why he should not have many years of comfort, and there is no cause for you to disquiet yourself on his account--you have only to be careful of him." Meta tried to say "thank you," but not succeeding, looked imploringly at her governess, who spoke for her.

"Thank you, it is a great relief to have an opinion, for we were not at all satisfied about Mr.Rivers." A few words more, and Meta was skipping about like a sprite finding a basket for the flowers--she had another shake of the hand, another grateful smile, and "thank you," from the doctor; and then, as the carriage disappeared, Mrs.Larpent exclaimed, "What a very nice intelligent boy that was." "Particularly gentlemanlike," said Mr.Rivers.