“It was not the woman's own child, or she could not have been so careless of it It was tossed into the bottom of the boat, and lay there crying. The lady felt sorry for it, and took it in her arms. They had gone but a little way from the shore when it was playing about her, quite happy again. While playing--she looking at the ship, and not watching the little thing as she ought to have done--the child fell overboard.” A loud sob burst from Agatha. “Hush, still hush, my darling! The child was saved. The ship sailed away, but the child--you _know_ that she was saved. I am thankful to God it was so!” Anne wrapped her arms tightly round the sobbing girl, and after a few moments she also wept. “I remember it all now,” cried Agatha, as soon as she found words--“the shore, the headlands, the bay. I was that little child, and it was you who saved me!” Anne made no answer but by pressing her closer. “I felt it the first moment I ever saw you. I never forgot you--never! But how did you know me?” “Was I likely ever to lose sight of that little child? And also, years before, I had once or twice met your father--though this would have been nothing. But from that day I felt that you belonged to me. And now, since you are become a Harper, you do.” Agatha embraced her, and then suddenly looked mournful.--“But yourself? Tell me, did you ever again meet your--your friend?” No answer. A slight movement of the lips sufficed to explain the whole. “And it was all through me,” cried Agatha, to whom that soft smile was agony. “And what have I done in requital? I have lived a useless, erring life; I have suffered--oh, how I have suffered! Far better I had been left lying at the bottom of that quiet bay. Why did God let you save me?” “That you might grow up a good and noble woman, fulfilling worthily the life He spared, and giving it back into His hands, in His time, as a true and faithful servant. Dare not to murmur at His will--dare not to ask why He saved you, Agatha Harper.” Saying this, as sternly as Anne Valery could speak--she tried to put Agatha from her breast, but the girl held her too fast. “Oh, do not cast me away. I have nobody in the world but you. Forgive me! Guide my life which I owe you, and make it worth your saving. Love me--teach my husband to love me. If you knew how miserable I am, and may be always.” “No one is miserable always,” returned Anne faintly, as she leaned back, her hands dropping down cold and listless. “We grow content in time. We shall all be--very happy--some day.” She spoke with hesitation and difficulty. The next minute, in spite of her declaration that she never fainted, Miss Valery had become insensible. CHAPTER XXII. “What, up and dressed already, without sending for me? Did you not promise last night that I should do everything for you just as if I were your child? How very naughty you are, Miss Valery.”