And there was another thing that she could not help feeling uncomfortable about. She had not told Mrs. Rayburn that Fred's trouble was so serious that he had been imprisoned and must stand his trial. She had no suspicion that Mrs. Rayburn was not the good-tempered, obliging person she had always appeared, but she did know that she was a great talker and a great gossip. She might write all this to her sister-in-law in Hemsborough; she might even tell the boys, from whom their father so much desired to conceal it. It had seemed to Janet that there could be no harm in keeping back the worst part of the story, but now she felt uneasy at having done so, being a very truthful and candid woman. Events proved that it would have been wiser to tell all; yet I do not think Janet was to blame for her reticence. At last the time came for her to go on board; and she and her luggage reached the vessel in safety. It was a lovely evening, and the Mersey as smooth as glass, yet before the vessel left the river, poor Janet was lying in her berth, deadly sick, and only hearing a voice as at a great distance, saying— "Dear, dear, fancy being took like this before we're out of the river!" On the river, or on the broad Atlantic, it was all much the same to poor Janet. She was never free from sickness till she found herself landed alone in a strange land. They told her on board that she would feel all right the moment she landed, but she did not feel much better than when at sea. Then she dimly hoped that a night's sleep would cure her, and that everything would cease to swim before her eyes, and leave off coming into violent contact with her when she tried to move. But the night brought no sleep, and no refreshment. "I must go on to Gattigo. I must get to Fred and Gilbert. I'm going to be ill," she said aloud. And she dressed herself with much difficulty, and made her way to the railway station named in Gilbert's notes. How she remembered her route, as sent her by Gilbert, how she contrived to drag herself from place to place, and to keep her luggage together—but that is, I believe, easier in Canada than at home—she never could remember. Her head ached so dreadfully that the effort of moving or speaking was agony, and every now and then she lost all sense of her present surroundings and fell into a half-conscious state of fear and misery, only to be realized by those who have endured the slow coming-on of a bad fever. She reached Gattigo at last. No Fred was visible, but Gilbert was waiting for her. "Why, here you are, my brave girl," he said pityingly, "and, as things have turned out, I need not have hurried you so." Janet caught at his arm to keep herself from falling, crying out— "Gilbert—is he dead?" "No, no; hold up, Janet. Why, the poor girl has fainted! Here, Brett!"—to a passing railway clerk. "Lend me a hand." "Your sister that you were expecting? Ah, poor girl, no doubt it was a shock."