Chelda willingly assumed the care of the suffering girl, who had suddenly become possessed of a peculiar attraction for her. Her black eyes fastened themselves on the pale face on the sofa cushion. Not a look, not an action escaped them, and she made not the slightest effort to control her eagerness as she hung over her guest. "Your distress is mental, not physical," she murmured, when Miss Gastonguay and Prosperity had left them. "Tell me about it." Aurelia, naturally frank, was in her state of exhaustion doubly open to persuasion, and yet her bloodless lips could not frame the secret of her distress. "It is Mr. Huntington," said Chelda, "you are sorry to think he has gone away." "Sorry!" and Aurelia made a weak gesture expressive of lack of appropriateness in the adjective. Then, coaxed and allured by Chelda, she whispered a tearful tale of a hopeless infatuation for the young clergyman. "Did he know it?" asked Chelda. Aurelia opened wide her innocent blue eyes. "Oh, no, no,--how could he?" Chelda pressed her handkerchief to her lips. Aurelia herself was the only person in Rossignol unaware of her childishly open admiration for the handsome young man. "How could you reconcile it with your conscience?" she asked, mildly, "to fall in love with a man who never showed you the slightest attention?" "I could not--I did not," and Aurelia tried to hide her distressed face against the back of the sofa. "I knew it was wrong. I have suffered, oh, how I have suffered! And I prayed about it, but I couldn't seem to help it. He was so--so attractive, and he was in such trouble." "Did you ever pray for him?" asked Chelda, in her gently inquisitorial manner. "Every day of my life--every hour." "Did you tell him?" Aurelia shrank from her. "How could I do that? We never talked about anything but the Sunday school and the mothers' meetings." Again Chelda's face contracted with amusement, and, leaving her, she went away to have a bed made ready for her. Twice a day a woman from one of the neighbouring cottages was permitted by Miss Gastonguay to come in and give to Chelda, who was not a champion for the rights of men, any services that she might require. But the woman was not allowed to sleep under the roof, and Chelda was now in haste to find her before she left for the night. In a short time Aurelia was comfortably installed in bed. Chelda in morbid curiosity hung over her as long as she could extort a remark from her. But when the sleeping-draught administered by Miss Gastonguay began to take effect, the young lady sought her own room, detained first by Miss Gastonguay, who asked, with determination, "What does this mean?" "What, aunt?" "You know. Mr. Huntington's departure. Are you worrying about it?" "A little, aunt, not much." Miss Gastonguay had her glasses on, and she looked straight into Chelda's eyes. There was no veil over them now. They had never appeared more clear, more honest, more heart-whole.