"Dolt, fool, idiot! that's what I've been for my pains," growled Garth between his teeth, as he struck at a young sapling with his stick; "as though one could map and trace out one's feeling and one's life in that way. What is Dora to me after all compared to this girl, this stranger, whom I did not know six months ago; and yet, like a blockhead, I must try to bind myself to her, and call her my Fate." And then he softened and grew pitiful. "Poor Dora! poor dear Dora!" he said, with a kindly memory of his old playmate, and all his anger died out of him. After all, there was a very true friendship between them none the less that he did not deceive himself, and called it by its right name. Garth meant to go home straight that night, like the good young man he was; but, somehow, before he was aware he had unlatched the little gate. Perhaps it was the sound of Langley's voice in the porch that determined him. Of course it was the duty of an affectionate brother to escort her home. But Langley had only left her own warm fireside to visit an ailing child in the village, and was carrying the report to the young school-mistress. She still wore her Sister-of-mercy's grey cloak, as Cathy called it, which Queenie was half-coaxingly, half-playfully trying to unfasten. She started at Langley's surprised exclamation, and again that paleness was perceptible. As for Garth, he flushed a little over the girl's evident surprise. "I heard your voice, Langley, and so I followed you in," he said gravely, looking at her and not at Queenie. All at once he seemed embarrassed and ill-at-ease, his usual assurance had left him. "Now you have come you must both stay," replied Queenie brightly; she had recovered from her momentary agitation. "Langley has brought me a very sad account of poor little Bessie. I must go down there the first thing in the morning." "Where is Emmie?" asked Garth, looking longingly at the empty rocking-chair, but not daring to take possession. Langley's cloak still hung round her in straight long folds, she stood quietly warming herself by the fire, looking down on the flame with a thoughtful, intent face. "Emmie is tired and has gone to bed. Do you know," looking up at Garth rather sorrowfully, "that I am afraid that she is not as strong as she ought to be. I have been telling Langley so. I often find her lying on the rug in the twilight, and yet she will have it she is only tired." "She is growing so fast; children are often languid at that age: you must not be over-anxious," he returned kindly. "How can I help it? she is all I have," replied the girl, turning from him to hide the tears in her eyes. The kindness of his tone had brought them there. Garth looked after her wistfully, but he said no more. "Come, Garth, it is late, and we must not stay," exclaimed Langley, rousing herself. She put her hand on his arm and drew him gently on without seeming to notice his reluctance.