"No; we expect them every moment," answered Agnes, leading her aunt into the now orderly dining-room, and placing her in an arm-chair. Miss Headley's eyes wandered round in search of little Minnie, and soon she saw the sleeping child. "Not ill?" she asked, reassuring herself with her eyes before Agnes answered: "She was tired with excitement, I think, and grief. I am so glad she is asleep." "The best thing for her. And they got off well?" "Oh, yes; but I hardly knew how utterly dreadful it would be to feel I could not call them back!" Agnes turned away; she could not say any more. While the responsibility rested on her alone she had been brave, but now with her aunt's sympathy so near she began to feel as if she must break down. "I know," said the soft voice, "do not mind me, my child; come here and let me comfort you." Agnes knelt down and laid her head on her aunt's shoulder, while one or two convulsive sobs relieved her burdened heart. "There will often be moments when you would give anything to have them here, my child; but the Lord knows just that, and has sent forth strength for thee to meet it all. We never know how very dear and precious He can be till we've got no one else." "I shall learn it soon," whispered Agnes. "Yes, my child; and it is such a mercy to know that He suits our discipline to our exact need. The other day I was on a visit in the country, and had to go to an instrument-maker there to do something for my back. He told me he could not help me at all, for my case was so very peculiar, and he had nothing to suit me. But that's not like the Lord, my child. He knows us too intimately for that. He does not think our case too peculiar for His skill, but holds in His tender hand just the support, just the strengthening, just the treatment we want, and He gives us what will be the very best for us." Agnes and Alice knew to what their aunt referred. An accident when she was a beautiful young woman of twenty had caused her life-long suffering, and obliged her to wear a heavy instrument which often gave her great pain and weariness. Her niece raised her hand at those gentle words, and stroked her aunt's face lovingly. "It is resting to know He understands perfectly, my child, isn't it?" "Very. But oh, auntie, I wish you hadn't to suffer so!" "Don't wish that, my dear, but rejoice that, in every trial that has ever come to me, I can say, 'His grace has been sufficient for me.'" Agnes knelt on in silence; and aunt Phyllis did not attempt to disturb the quiet till some hasty footsteps were heard along the pavement, which came springing up the steps, and in another moment the two boys, fresh from their walk, came bursting into the room; but not before Agnes had sprung up and seated herself at the table with her work. "Hulloa, Agnes! Why, auntie, is that you? So you've come to look after the forsaken nest, have you?"