"Well, dear—" he said with a long breath, "we will think it over. I do not wish to shut myself up, and if it would do you all good, I am willing to try it." "Arthur looks so dull and forlorn. It is the first year for so long, that we have not gone away at this time." "Yes, dear, so it is; we will arrange it. You think of what place you would like, and I will write about apartments." So Nellie, Ada, and Arthur put their heads together, and decided on the Isle of Wight, if papa approved; and the following evening, when the little ones were gone to bed, they anxiously laid their plans before their father. "We think, papa," said Nellie, "that Mary and the little ones had better be settled in at Shanklin, and then we will take you," she said, smiling lovingly at him, "excursions to different places; and perhaps we might even stop a night or two at the nicest, because, you know, it is so near, that Mary could send for us if she wanted anything." "So that's it, is it?" said Dr. Arundel. "That's what I get by telling you to settle what you like." He seemed pleased, however, with their plan, and very soon everything was arranged, and they actually had carried off their father for a holiday. Nellie did not ask Christina, feeling that her father would be able to unbend more alone; and so it proved. He left his practice in good hands, and when once they were at the sea, he would sit on the beach at first, hour after hour, by little Tom's carriage, reading a book which Nellie's thoughtfulness had provided, and doing very little; sometimes talking to Tom about the loved mother, and in the peace and quietness feeling nearer to her than he could do in the whirl of London. Nellie watched over him as she would over a sick child. Without seeming to be taking any notice, she would manage to establish the pair who were so suited to each other, in some warm and quiet nook, and then she would draw off the younger ones, the nurse, and Simmons, for a long ramble. Ada and Arthur generally were full of plans for themselves, which would include her if she could spare time; but generally she went quietly homewards to fulfil her housekeeping duties; and when these were done, she would take her work or mending into the verandah which faced the sea, the low hedge of the little garden having nothing but a path to separate it from high water, and with a sound of the waves in her ears she would sit and think—not only think, but pray. Many, many tears fell over that work; tears of memory, tears for lost opportunities, tears for the depression of the trials which fell so heavily on her young heart, tears for the future, which all at once had become so blank and cold to her. But while she wept, she would pray; and as surely as she prayed would the Comforter be sent, as He was promised, and peace would steal over her troubled heart.