Miss Jane did not stay long.  Indeed, Alfred could not talk to her, and she did not know what to say to him; she could only stand by his bed, with the tears upon her cheeks, making little murmuring sounds in answer to Mrs. King, who said for her son what she thought he wished to have said.  Meanwhile, Jane was earnestly looking at him, remarking with awe, that, changed as he was since she had last seen him—­so much more wasted away—­the whole look of his face was altered by the gentleness and peace that it had gained, so as to be like the white figure of a saint.

She could not bear it when Mrs. King told her Alfred wanted to thank her for all her kindness in coming to see him.  ‘Oh, no,’ she said, ‘I was not kind at all;’ and her tears would not be hindered.  ’Only, you know, I could not help it.’

Alfred gave her a bright look.  Any one could see what a pleasure it was to him to be looking at her again, though he did not repent of his share in the sacrifice for Paul’s sake.  No, if Paul had been given up that Miss Jane might come to him, Alfred would not have had the training that made all so sweet and calm with him now.  He turned his head to the little picture, and said, ’Thank you, Ma’am, for that.  That’s been my friend.’

‘Yes, indeed it has, Miss Jane,’ said his mother.  ’There’s nothing you ever did for him that gave him the comfort that has been.’

‘And please, Ma’am,’ said Alfred, ’will you tell my Lady—­I give her my duty—­and ask her pardon for having behaved so bad—­and Mrs. Crabbe—­and the rest?’

‘I will, Alfred; but every one has forgiven that nonsense long ago.’

‘It was very bad of me,’ said Alfred, pausing for breath; ’and so it was not to mind you—­Miss Jane—­when you said I was ill for a warning.’

‘Did I?’ said Jane.

’Yes—­in hay-time—­I mind it—­I didn’t mind for long—­but ’twas true.  He had patience with me.’

The cough came on, and Jane knew she must go; her grandmother had bidden her not to stay if it were so, and she just ventured to squeeze Alfred’s hand, and then went down-stairs, checking her tears, to wish Matilda and Ellen good-bye; and as she passed by Paul, told him not to uncover his still very short-haired head, and kindly hoped he was better.

Paul, in his dreary feelings, hardly thought of Mr. Cope’s plan, till, as he was getting the letters ready for Harold, he turned up one in Mr. Cope’s writing, addressed to the ’Rev. A. Shaw, Berryton, Elbury.’

‘That’s to settle for me, then,’ he said; and Harold who was at tea, asking, ‘What’s that?’ he explained.

‘Well,’ said Harold, ’every one to his taste!  I wouldn’t go to school again, not for a hundred pounds; and as to keeping school!’ (Such a face as he made really caused Paul to smile.) ’Nor you don’t half like it, neither,’ continued Harold.  ’Come, you’d better stay and get work here!  I’d sooner be at the plough-tail all day, than poke out my eyes over stuff like that,’ pointing to Paul’s slate, covered with figures.  ‘Here, Nelly,’ as she moved about, tidying the room, ’do you hear?  Mr. Cope’s got an offer of a place for Paul—­ five pounds a year, and board and lodging, to be school-master’s whipper-in, or what d’ye call it?’