With the early light of the long summer morning Dr. Lucas looked in, and would have sent her to bed, but she begged off, and a sign from her husband seemed to settle the matter, for the old physician went away again, perhaps because his eyes were full of tears.

The first words Joe said when they were again alone was “My tablets.”  She went in search of them to his dressing-room, and not finding them there, was about to run down to the consulting-room, when Janet came out already dressed, and fetched them for her, as well as a white slate, on which he was accustomed to write memorandums of engagements.

Her father thanked her by a sign, but there was possibility enough of infection to make him wave her back from kissing him, and she took refuge at the foot of the bed, on a sofa shut off by the curtains. which had been drawn to exclude the light.

Joe meantime wrote on the slate the words, “Magnum bonum.”

“Magnum bonum?” read his wife, in amazement.

“Papers in bureau,” he wrote; “lock all in my desk.  Mention to no one.”

“Am I to put them in your desk?” asked Caroline, bewildered as to his intentions, and finding it hard to read the writing, as he went on—-

“No word to anyone!” scoring it under, “not till one of the boys is ready.”

“One of the boys!” in utter amazement.

“Not as a chance for himself,” he wrote, “but as a great trust.”

“I know,” she said, “it is a great trust to make a discovery which will save life.  It is my pride to know you are doing it, my own dear Joe.”

“It seems I am not worthy to do it,” was traced by his fingers.  “It is not developed enough to be listened to by anyone.  Keep it for the fit one of the boys.  Religion, morals, brains, balance.”

She read each word aloud, bending her head in assent; and, after a pause, he wrote “Not till his degree.  He could not work it out sooner.  These is peril to self and others in experimenting-— temptation to rashness.  It were better unknown than trifled with.  Be an honest judge—-promise.  Say what I want.”

Spellbound, almost mesmerised by his will, Caroline pronounced-—"I promise to keep the magnum bonum a secret till the boys are grown up, and then only to confide it to the one that seems fittest, when he has taken his degree, and is a good, religious, wise, able man, with brains and balance, fit to be trusted to work out and apply such an invention, and not make it serve his own advancement, but be a real good and blessing to all.”

He gave her one of his bright, sweet smiles, and, as she sealed her promise by a kiss, he took up the slate again and wrote, “My dear comfort, you have always understood.  You are to be trusted.  It must be done worthily or not at all.”

That was the burthen of everything; and his approval and affection gave a certain sustaining glow to the wife, who was besides so absorbed in attending to him, as not to look beyond the moment.  He wrote presently, after a little more, “You know all my mind for the children.  With God’s help you can fill both places to them.  I should like you to live at Kenminster, under Robert’s wing.”