him to eat, and watching him with feverish anxiety as her mother’s dreadful words rang in her ears—­softening of the brain!  Was that terrible disease stealing upon him?  Would the time come when the kind eyes which now always brightened when they rested on her would have in them no sign of recognition, and the lips which spoke her name so lovingly utter only unmeaning words?  It was terrible to contemplate, and Bessie felt she would rather see him dead than an imbecile.

“But what should I do with father gone?” she said, and her thoughts turned to Neil, who would surely take her then, even if he took her into poverty.

And so in a measure Bessie was comforted, and watched her father with untiring vigilance, and felt that he was slipping from her and that in all the world there was for her no ray of joy except in Neil’s love, which she never doubted, and without which her heart would have broken, it was so full of care and pain.  And it was just when her heart was saddest because her father had that morning called her Daisy, and when she corrected him had said, “Yes, but I can’t think of your name; words go from me strangely at times; everything is confused,” that Neil’s letter came, bringing her fresh cause for anxiety, and seeming with its brevity and strangeness, to put him farther from her than he would be in Cannes, whither he was going.

That night Bessie cried herself to sleep, and was so weak and sick the next morning that Dorothy persuaded her to stay in bed and brought her up her breakfast of toast, crisp and hot, with a fresh boiled egg and a cup of tea which she declared would almost give life to a dead man.

“But, Dolly,” Bessie said, “you should not have brought me the egg; they are two pence apiece, and father must have them all.  Can’t you keep it and warm it up for him?”

“Warm up an egg!  Bless the child,” and Dorothy laughed till the tears ran.  “You can’t warm over a boiled egg, so eat it down; it will do you good, and you are growing so thin and pale.  Here is a letter for your father; but as he is asleep I brought it to you.”

Taking the letter, Bessie examined the address, which was a strange one to her.  Evidently it was on business, and as nothing of that kind could mean anything but fresh anxiety and annoyance for her father, she resolved to know the contents and, if possible, keep them from the weak invalid.  So she broke the seal and read with astonishment that Messrs. Blank & Blank, bankers, in Lombard street, London, had been instructed by one who did not wish his name to appear, to send to Mr. Archibald McPherson of Stoneleigh, Bangor, the sum of one hundred pounds, and inclosed was a check for the same.

“Oh!” Bessie exclaimed, as she sprang up and began to dress herself rapidly.  “One hundred pounds!  Why, we are rich, and father can have everything he wants.  I wonder how much a bottle of Johannisberger wine would cost.”