All that day Rhoda's mother was by the bedside. Rhoda herself went to and fro, now ministering to the baby's wants, now hanging over her cousin's pillow. Once she stayed out of the room for nearly half-an-hour, and on entering it again, she saw her mother strangely agitated. Helen's head was on her aunt's bosom, and her pale lips were moving. But Rhoda could not hear what she said. [Illustration: "She tarried with them until the breaking of another day."--Page 7] She tarried with them until the breaking of another day. The sun came up. Shadows of jessamine sprays were drawn sharply on the white blind; a glory of golden light fell on the chamber wall. Towards that light the dying face was turned. To Rhoda, at that moment, came a sudden impulse. Clearly and firmly she repeated the familiar lines that she and Helen had learnt years ago,-- "The wide arms of Mercy are spread to enfold thee, And sinners may hope, for the Sinless has died." For answer, there was a quick, bright smile, and then the half-breathed word-- "Forgiven." Only an hour later, Rhoda was walking along the grassy garden-path with Helen's child in her arms. Was it yesterday that they were children playing together? Had ten years or sixty minutes gone by since she died? If she had come suddenly out of the old summer-house among the beeches--a gay, smiling girl--Rhoda could scarcely have wondered. There are moments in life when we put time away from us altogether. And yet one had to come back to the everyday world again--a very fair world on that morning. Newly-reaped fields lay bare and glistening in the sun; thistle-down drifted about in the languid air, and the baby stretched out her hands to grasp the butterflies. She looked up, wonderingly, with Helen's brown eyes, when Rhoda pressed her to her bosom and wept. CHAPTER VII. DISPOSING OF HELEN'S JEWELS. A month went by. The household fell back into its old ways. The little child laughed and played, and grew dearer and dearer to them all. Mrs. Farren had taken upon herself the task of looking over Helen's things. She performed this duty without any aid from Rhoda; and not one word did she say about the jewels. The farmer had written to Australia, breaking the sad news to Robert Clarris as gently as he could. How would he receive it? Rhoda wondered. They had left off speaking of him in her hearing. They were aware of all the bitter dislike that she cherished, but they never sought to soften her heart. They were content--as the wisest people are--to leave most things to time. We do not know how often we wrong a friend by hotly defending him, nor how we help an enemy by running him down. Now that Helen was gone, Rhoda was harassed by a new fear. She dreaded lest Robert should take away the child.