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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"

It cost the good woman many tears,
for she thought such a love one of the saddest things in a sad
world. Neither Arctura nor Donal thought so.
The earl at this time was a little better, though without prospect
of even temporary recovery. He had grown much gentler, and sadness
had partially displaced his sullenness. He seemed to have become in
a measure aware of the bruteness of the life he had hitherto led: he
must have had a glimpse of something better. It is wonderful what
the sickness which human stupidity regards as the one evil thing,
can do towards redemption! He showed concern at his niece's illness,
and had himself carried down every other day to see her for a few
minutes. She received him always with the greatest gentleness, and
he showed something that seemed like genuine affection for her.
It was a morning in the month of May--
The naked twigs were shivering all for cold--
when Donal, who had been with Arctura the greater part of the night,
and now lay on the couch in a neighbouring room, heard Mrs. Brookes
call him.
"My lady wants you, sir," she said.
He started up, and went to her.
"Send for the minister," she whispered, "--not Mr. Carmichael; he
does not know you. Send for Mr. Graeme too: he and mistress Brookes
will be witnesses. I must call you husband once before I die!"
"I hope you will many a time after!" he returned.


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