And he might as well write to countermand that piano, carefully selected at the principal music shop in the market town before alluded to. It—the piano—had been almost recklessly hired for a month, that the little sister might miss no comfort, and that the brother, leaning back in his favourite chair, might listen as she sang hymn or song that the mother had loved in the old days, and taught to her children. No need for the piano now. And then, amidst the unspoken feelings of regret, came a reproachful thought. The brother, unselfish hitherto, was himself again, and shutting out the memory of his disappointment, blaming himself even for allowing it to intrude, he resolutely banished it, and kneeling down, thanked God for His goodness to the little sister, and prayed for her continued happiness in future years. The dim light of that wintry day faded into darkness. The rain continued to patter outside, but the curate's fire, carefully replenished, gave a cheerful glow, and by it he sat dreaming just for once. Not that he was given to day-dreams when there was work to be done, but just now rest was the truest economy, and as his mind was too busy to be altogether idle, dreaming was the employment which cost the least mental effort. Gertrude was dispossessed from the little waiting chair, but as Arthur's dream progressed, he saw it occupied by another figure; a girl's also, younger than the sister by fully two years; taller, slighter, fairer than the little gipsy to whom he had been writing. He saw the delicate cheek, resting on a slender hand; the lovely violet eyes, full of feeling and tenderness; the abundant hair, drawn, but not tightly, from the fair forehead, and twisted in soft coils behind, innocent of frizzing-irons or fringes. All about the figure was sweet, feminine, and forming a delightful combination of girlish innocence and womanly goodness. As Arthur saw the imaginary figure filling that place, the dream was bright enough to bring a little cry of gladness to his lips and a smile to his thoughtful face. He half-stretched out his arms as he rose involuntarily from his seat, but as he did so the vision faded, the chair became empty again. A real face appeared in the doorway, and Esther Morris inquired if "master" called, for she thought she heard his voice. She brought the lighted lamp in her hand, thus anticipating a want that must shortly be attended to, and—only she did not know it—an extinguisher too, which shut out and put out the light of Arthur's dream.