"O Helen, how is mamma?" Jean stopped short, appalled at the change in her sister's face. "Helen," she cried, a sharp ring of pain in her voice, "mamma is not--" "Yes, Jean--Nathalie--mamma is gone. Oh, what shall we do," Helen moaned. "My poor children," said Aunt Helen tenderly, crossing the room and putting an arm around little Nathalie, and clasping Jean's hand tightly in hers; "your dear mamma is gone. She was so sad and lonely without papa. Oh, darlings! do not grieve, but think of her as happy and at rest. You, Helen, must learn to be a mother to these little sisters and brothers, and teach them all your dear mamma would have them know. And Jean and even little Nathalie, too, can help." "Auntie"--Helen's tears were falling fast--"I will do all I can. Poor baby," she whispered, and she kissed the soft little face, which was nestled in her arms, and then she turned toward the cribs, and looked with loving eyes at the sleeping children. "God bless them, and help me." Since that sad night six years had rolled by. Nathalie was now eighteen, Jean her elder by two years, and Helen's twenty-third birthday was close at hand. Larry and Willie were respectively eight and ten, and little Gladys was fast outgrowing her babyhood. Aunt Helen, Mrs. Dennis, had since Mrs. Lawrence's death made her permanent home with her nieces and nephews. She was a sweet, gentle woman, a widow and childless, and her lonely life had been thus gladdened by the love of this household of happy-go-lucky children. She had always been delicate, and during the past few years had become so great an invalid that she rarely left her room. Thus Helen Lawrence had been obliged to assume unusual cares and responsibilities for so young a girl, and these were not without their effect on her mind and character. For years the manor house of Hetherford had been in the possession of the Lawrences, and no family in the town was better known, or more universally loved. The manor itself was a charming old park, stretching out far enough to make it no small walk to compass its grounds. Grand old trees shaded the well-kept lawns, and pretty graveled paths, lined with box-wood, led hither and thither.