of aunt Vashti rise in her seat with a hysterical outburst, and fall convulsively forward upon her knees! She would have rushed to her side, but the frenzied woman was instantly caught by Deacon Shadwell and surrounded by a group of her own sex and became hidden. And when Cissy recovered herself she was astonished to find Brother Seabright--with every trace of his past emotion vanished from his hard-set face--calmly taking up his coherent discourse in his ordinary level tones. The furious struggle of the moment before was over; the chapel and its congregation had fallen back into an exhausted and apathetic silence! Then the preacher gave out the hymn--the words were singularly jubilant among that usually mournful collection in the book before her--and Cissy began it with a tremulous voice. But it gained strength, clearness, and volume as she went on, and she felt thrilled throughout with a new human sympathy she had never known before. The preacher's bass supported her now for the first time not unmusically--and the service was over. Relieved, she turned quickly to join her aunt, but a hand was laid gently upon her shoulder. It was Brother Seabright, who had just stepped from the platform. The congregation, knowing her to be the niece of the hysteric woman, passed out without disturbing them. “You have, indeed, improved your gift, Sister Cecilia,” he said gravely. “You must have practiced much.” “Yes--that is, no!--only a little,” stammered Cissy. “But, excuse me, I must look after auntie,” she added, drawing timidly away. “Your aunt is better, and has gone on with Sister Shadwell. She is not in need of your help, and really would do better without you just now. I shall see her myself presently.” “But YOU made her sick already,” said Cissy, with a sudden, half-nervous audacity. “You even frightened ME.” “Frightened you?” repeated Seabright, looking at her quickly. “Yes,” said Cissy, meeting his gaze with brown, truthful eyes. “Yes, when you--when you--made those faces. I like to hear you talk, but”--she stopped. Brother Seabright's rare smile again lightened his face. But it seemed sadder than when she had first seen it. “Then you have been practicing again at the Mission?” he said quietly; “and you still prefer it?” “Yes,” said Cissy. She wanted to appear as loyal to the Mission in Brother Seabright's presence as she was faithful to West Woodlands in Mr. Braggs's. She had no idea that this was dangerously near to coquetry. So she said a little archly, “I don't see why YOU don't like the Mission. You're a missionary yourself. The old padres came here to spread the Word. So do you.”