Please sir, there is Mr. Smith waiting downstairs, will he come in?" "By all means. Bianca bring him here. I should like to see him." Bianca went down. Mr. Smith was waiting in the hail. The front door was open, and gusts of fresh wind were sweeping in. Mr. Smiith took Bianca’s two hands in his own. "And how is papa?" "He is very ill; he wants to see you Mr. Smith." "Ill! I am sorry to hear that. What is the matter with him?" "Fever." And the girl’s eyes filled. "Poorchild! Poor child!" Said the Rector patting her on the head; God will give you strength to bear all this. His grace is sufficient for us." He followed her upstairs. The Rector wont to the bedside of the patient. They did not talk much, but the silent and sincore sympathy apparent in Mr. Smith’s mild face was more welcome than a host of words from any of Job’s comforters.
Bianca sat by the window. The doctor presently came. He prescribed; then went away; he was a busy man.
A week past, a week of intense bodily and mental suffering; on the seventh day M. Garcia opened his eyes, and recognised his daughter. He almost started at first. Her pale profile, as she sat quietly by the window recalled his lost Inez vividly to his mind. "Come here, Bianca." She went and put her hand in his, he grasped it warmly and tears came into the eyes of both. God had boon merciful to Bianca.
Chapter II
More than twelve months had passed. It was a bright June day. A young man and woman were sauntering thoughtfully in the fields. It was Bianca and Mr. Walter Ingram. "Look Mr. Ingram isn’t the sun beautiful? The west seems lightened by a bonfire." He turned half round: "Yes; it is very beautiful;" he said. He was a rather handsome young man of about twenty four, with a frank countenance, fair hair, and pale blue eyes; his lips were full, but they lacked firmness; in stature he was of the middle height. There was pause. Bianca was looking dreamily at the far west when the voice of her companion interrupted her reverie. "Bianca" he said. "I want to tell you
