"I hope I have not alarmed you; this wretched cough takes all my strength away. There, I'm all right again. I wish you would sing to me." "Do you mean now?" Mavis inquired, dubiously. "Yes, unless you would rather not." The little girl coloured nervously; but she feared to appear disobliging, so she sang one or two simple ditties very prettily. Miss Dawson was charmed, and Mavis felt gratified at being able to give her pleasure. "You have a very sweet voice," Miss Dawson said by-and-by, at the conclusion of the last song. "Do—please do sing something more." "I'm afraid I don't know any more songs," Mavis replied, "but I will sing a hymn, if you like. I know! I will give you mother's favourite psalm." She commenced forthwith to sing an old version of the twenty-third psalm— "The Lord is only my support, and He that doth me feed; How can I then lack anything whereof I stand in need? In pastures green He feedeth me, where I do safely lie; And after leads me to the streams which run most pleasantly." "And when I find myself near lost, then doth He me home take; Conducting me in His right paths, e'en for His own Name's sake. And though I were e'en at death's door, yet would I fear no ill; For both Thy rod and shepherd's crook afford me comfort still." "Thou hast my table richly spread in presence of my foe, Thou hast my head with balm refresht, my cup doth overflow—" Mavis stopped suddenly, for, much to her consternation, she saw that Miss Dawson was struggling to subdue an emotion which threatened to overpower her, and that her blue eyes were swimming in tears. There was silence for a few minutes. "I am very foolish," the sick girl said, at length, in a tremulous tone, "and you mustn't think I don't like your singing, for I do, especially that psalm, it's—it's so comforting—" "And when I find myself near lost, then doth He me home take." "I shall think of that when I'm ever so far away from England, and—and I shall try to fear no ill, and remember that the Good Shepherd is with me. I am so glad you came with your mother to-day, Mavis; I would not have missed knowing you for a great deal. You must come to see me again." Mavis, immensely flattered, flushed rosy red. After that, they talked quite confidentially, until Mrs. Grey re-entered the room. Miss Dawson told her in what manner Mavis had been entertaining her, and that her company had done her a vast deal of good. "I must see more of her," she declared. Then, with a sudden change of tone, she asked anxiously, "What has been decided?" "That we are to sail from Plymouth, by the 'Nineveh,' on Thursday week," Mrs. Grey replied. "So we have only a short while in which to make our final arrangements. I am afraid I shall have no opportunity of bringing Mavis to see you again." "Oh, mother!" cried Mavis, regretfully.