Sunnybank

With an increased flush upon his brow, Arthur St. Claire hastened
down, pausing at an inner room while he bent over and whispered to
a young girl reclining on her pillow, "Nina, darling, Miggie's come."

There was a low cry of unutterable delight, and Nina Bernard
raised herself upon her elbow, looking wistfully toward the door
through which Arthur had disappeared.

"Be quiet, la petite Nina," said a short, thick woman, who sat by
the bed, apparently officiating in the capacity of nurse; then, as
the carriage stopped at the gate, she glided to the window,
muttering to herself, "Charmant charmant, magnifique," as she
caught a full view of the eager, sparkling face, turned toward the
young man hastening down the walk. Then, with that native
politeness natural to her country, she moved away so as not to
witness the interview.

"Arthur!"

"Edith!"

That was all they said, for Richard and Nina stood between them, a
powerful preventive to the expression of the great joy throbbing
in the heart of each, as hand grasped hand, and eye sought eye,
fearfully, tremblingly, lest too much should be betrayed.

"Miggie, Miggie, be quick," came from the room where Nina was now
standing up in bed, her white night dress hanging loosely about
her forehead and neck.

It needed but this to break the spell which bound the two without,
and dropping Edith's hand, Arthur conducted her to the house,
meeting in the hall with Nina, who, in spite of Mrs. Lamotte had
jumped from her bed and skipping across the floor, flung herself
into Edith's arms, sobbing frantically, "You did come, precious Miggie, to see sick Nina, didn't you, and
you'll stay forever and ever, won't you, my own sweet Miggie, and
Arthur's too? Oh, joy, joy, Nina's so happy to-night."