WINNIE CORSELLIS; OR, DEATH IN THE POT. 295

“Come along with me, Ramsay,” he said, as he
finished; and turning sharply round, he walked
rapidly to his own house, Ramsay following close
behind. He went straight to the stables, where
the groom was rubbing down a horse which Mr.
Ferrars had been riding.

‘ Which is the freshest, William ?” he asked, and
the man knew by his tone that something was wrong.

“For a short journey, or long one, sir?”

“Long.”

“The mare will stay best, I think,” said the
man, after a moment’s thought.

“Was she out yesterday ?”

“ No, sir.”

“ She will do, bring her round in ten minutes,
and then see to Mr. Ramsay’s horse.”

“Come and have something to eat,” he continued,
turning to the farmer.

“Thank you, sir, but T’ll just see to the beast
first; your man has got his hands full I reckon, and
there’ll be lots of time for me to get a bite and sup
when you are gone.”

“Very well, make yourself at home.
see that Mr. Ramsay is attended to.”

And Mr. Hammond hurried into the house.

“‘ Where is Mr. Ferrars ?” he asked of the maid
~vho met him in the hall.

“He has just gone to his room, sir.”

Mr. Hammond went to the foot of the stairs.

‘* Ferrars |”

“Yes,” replied George, from his bedroom.
«Can you come down? I want you fora minute.”
“ All right, I'll be with you directly.”

And in a few moments Mr. Hammond, who had

William,

gone into the dining-room, heard him descending
the stairs, whistling as he came the refrain of a song
he was accustomed to sing with Winnie.

“What is it?” |

“Ramsay has brought this,” replied Mr. Ham-
mond, putting Jane’s note in his hand. ‘‘ You see
it is not cholera,” he went on hurriedly, for George
had turned deadly pale, and seemed unable to
master the sense of the writing before him ; “some
kind of fever I suspect, but certainly not cholera.”

“My little darling, my Winnie,” whispered Fer-
vars, hardly heeding him, and still staring at the note.

«“ Come, George, don’t give way,” said Mr. Ham-
mond kindly, putting his hand on his shoulder;
“ pull yourself together, and think what is best to be
done. The mare will be round in five minutes, either
you or I go, of course, but the question is which.”

« Wait one minute,” said Ferrars, “ {I shall be all
right then.” He sat quite still for a few moments,
his face covered by his hands, while Mr. Hammond
went quietly to the sideboard, and poured out a
glass of wine.

When George moved he gave it to him, and he
had not many seconds to walt.

“Thank you,” said George, as he drank it, and
put down the glass, “I am all right now, it was the
shock upset me a little; I was expecting this all
day yesterday, but somehow to-day it had gone out
of my head.”

“There was no time to break it,” said Mr.
Hammond, who, however, rather regretted his
abruptness ; “besides, I hate preparing people, it
only keeps them longer in their misery. It is best
to know the worst at once, and in this case the
worst is so much less bad than it might have been.
Fever is serious enough, but only think, it might
have been the cholera, and this note was written
before the middle of the day.”

“Yes,” George understood; those hours would
have made them all too late to aid her in one case,
now they would be in time.

“Who shall go?” said Mr. Hammond, recurring
to the important question.

It was a strong temptation to George. He
knew that he might go if he would, that it was
left entirely for his own decision, and no one but
himself could tell how he longed to be at the farm,
watching that his darling was properly treated and
well cared for. But he put the temptation aside.

“You had better: I am not sure that I could
trust myself to keep my head clear; besides, Mrs.
Hammond would rather have you.”

“J think you are right, but it seems hard to
keep you away.”

“T’ll go up to-morrow night, perhaps. When
shall you be back ?”

“Early in the morning, I hope, as soon as I can,
you may be sure.”

“Jt will seem long till I hear of her, poor dar-
ling ; luckily there’s plenty to do, and I shall not
have time to fret.”

“You won’t do that, Ferrars, 1 know. You are
not 2 man to fret and worry. We can but do our
best, and leave the rest.”

“Yes, I know, Lam trying ; but its a hard pull,

Hammond.”

Men don’t often talk religion together, even
under such pressure as this, but they understood
each other for all that, and Mr. Hammond knew,
though no word had been spoken, where Ferrars had
gone for help, and that those few moments of
silence had been moments of prayer to God, for help

‘and strength to do and bear His will. A sharp ring

at the front bell broke the silence.

“ There’s William; you will find my list in the
ledger. Ramsay is still here, you can ask him par-
ticulars. Good-bye.” Their hands met ina firm |
clasp.

« You will do your best.”

«J will, and with God’s help Pl bring her

through.”

(Lo be continued.) |