Hugh could not reply.  She went on: 

“I have written to Mr. Arnold about the ring, and all you did to get it.  Do you know he is going to marry Lady Emily?”

Still Hugh could not answer.

Margaret stood on the other side of the bed, the graceful embodiment of holy health, and in his sorrow, he could not help feeling the beauty of her presence.  Her lovely hands were the servants of Euphra, and her light, firm feet moved only in ministration.  He felt that Euphra had room in the world while Margaret waited on her.  It is not house, and fire, and plenty of servants, and all the things that money can procure, that make a home —­ not father or mother or friends; but one heart which will not be weary of helping, will not be offended with the petulance of sickness, nor the ministrations needful to weakness:  this “entire affection hating nicer hands” will make a home of a cave in a rock, or a gipsy’s tent.  This Euphra had in Margaret, and Hugh saw it.

“I trust you will find your mother better, Hugh” said Euphra.

“I fear not,” answered he.

“Well, Margaret has been teaching me, and I think I have learned it, that death is not at all such a dreadful thing as it looks.  I said to her:  ’It is easy for you, Margaret, who are so far from death’s door.’  But she told me that she had been all but dead once, and that you had saved her life almost with your own.  Oh, Hugh! she is such a dear!”

Euphra smiled with ten times the fascination of any of her old smiles; for the soul of the smile was love.

“I shall never see you again, I daresay,” she went on.  “My heart thanks you, from its very depths, for your goodness to me.  It has been a thousand times more than I deserve.”

Hugh kissed in silence the wasted hand held out to him in adieu, and departed.  And the world itself was a sad wandering star.

Falconer had called for him.  They drove to Miss Talbot’s, where Hugh got his ‘bag of needments,’ and bade his landlady good-bye for a time.  Falconer then accompanied him to the railway.

Having left him for a moment, Falconer rejoined him, saying:  “I have your ticket;” and put him into a first-class carriage.

Hugh remonstrated.  Falconer replied: 

“I find this hulk of mine worth taking care of.  You will be twice the good to your mother, if you reach her tolerably fresh.”

He stood by the carriage door talking to him, till the train started; walked alongside till it was fairly in motion; then, bidding him good-bye, left in his hand a little packet, which Hugh, opening it by the light of the lamp, found to consist of a few sovereigns and a few shillings folded up in a twenty-pound-note.

I ought to tell one other little fact, however.  Just before the engine whistled, Falconer said to Hugh: 

“Give me that fourpenny piece, you brave old fellow!”

“There it is,” said Hugh.  “What do you want it for?”