“I trust I shall not set the house on fire this time,” was Richard’s playful rejoinder, as he followed Victor up the stairs to the old familiar chamber, where his valet left him alone to breathe out his fervent thanksgivings for the many blessings bestowed on one, who, when last he left that room, had said in his sorrow, there were no sunspots left.

The first coming home he so much dreaded was over now, and had been accompanied with far less pain than he feared.  He knew they were glad to have him back—­Arthur and his dear sister, as he always called her now.  Never since the bridal night had the name Edith passed his lips and if perchance he heard it from others, he shuddered involuntarily.  Still the sound of her voice had not hurt him as he thought it would; nothing had been half so hard as he had anticipated, and falling upon his knees, he poured out his soul in prayer, nor heard the steps upon the threshold as Arthur came in, his heart too full to tarry outside longer.  Kneeling by Richard, he, too, thanked the Good Father, not so much for his friend’s safe return as for the boon, precious as life itself which had been given to that friend.

When at last their prayers were ended, both involuntarily advanced to the window, where, with his handsome, manly face turned fully to the light, Arthur stood immovable, nor flinched a hair, as Edith would ere long when passing the same ordeal.  He did not ask what Richard thought of him, neither did Richard tell, only the remark,

“I do not wonder that she loved you best.”

They then talked together of a plan concerning Edith, after which Arthur left his brother to the repose he so much needed ere joining them in the parlor below.  Never before had pillows seemed so soft or bed so grateful as that on which Richard laid him down to rest, and sleep was just touching his heavy eyelids, when upon the door there came a gentle rap, accompanied with the words,

“P’eae, Uncle ’Ick, let Nina tome.  She’s all dressed up so nice.”

That little girl had crept way down into Richard’s heart, just as she did into every body’s, and he admitted her at once, suffering her to climb up beside him, where, with her fat, dimpled hands folded together, she sat talking to him in her sweet baby language,

“’Ess go to sleep, Nina tired,” she said at last, and folding his arms about her, Richard held her to his bosom as if she had been his own. “’Tain’t time to say p’ayers, is it?” she asked, fearing lest she should omit her duty; and when Richard inquired what her prayers were, she answered,

“Now I lay me—­and God bess Uncle ’Ick.  Mam-ma tell me that.”

Richard’s eyes filled with tears, which the waxen fingers wiped away, and when somewhat later Victor cautiously looked in, he saw them sleeping there together, Nina’s golden head nestled in Richard’s neck, and one of her little hands lain upon his cheek.