E— was now becoming completely emptied of visitors. Every lodging put up its hopeless label—"To let"—in the reading-room no one thought it worth while to attend; the shore was left to the fishermen, and scarcely a bonnet was seen in the streets! Walter worked busily and well at his new occupation. He had really a taste for carving, and every article that he made was an improvement upon the last. It was a great pleasure to him to hear Nelly admire his elegant sticks and beautiful boxes, and suggest little alterations and amendments. But still there could be no sale for anything that he made until the season when visitors should return, and with the long dreary winter and bleak spring before him, Walter began seriously to consider whether he should not leave E—, and seek for employment elsewhere. In vain he tried to persuade himself that he was wanted in the shop; Viner's business was so small that he could well manage it himself. The scanty gains were hardly sufficient for the bare support of three; were Walter in another situation, he might increase the little store. Very dear had his quiet home become to Villa's adopted son, he could hardly bear to leave it; and as he found by inquiry that there was little hope of obtaining employment near E—, he knew that to seek it, he must go to some distance, and be separated, perhaps for many years, from those whom he most loved upon earth. The thought of this lay like a weight upon his heart, and often made him sigh heavily as he sat at his work. As yet he had not spoken on the subject either to Viner or Nelly, but he knew that the time was come when it would be necessary for him to do so. Three days after the funeral of poor Ned, Mrs. Winter entered the little gate; Viner was alone in the shop at the time, but the sound of her voice drew Nelly and Walter from the parlour, where they had both been engaged in their work. "You have just come from our poor neighbour's," said Viner. "How is Mrs. Goldie this morning?" "Oh! Poor soul, I have scarcely left her since that terrible day! She's breaking, she's breaking fast—she will never hold up her head again!" "Oh! Hers has been indeed a heavy trial!" murmured Nelly. "Most heavy," said her neighbour, "and she's quite sinking under it. I've known mothers in sorrow for their children before now, but never in sorrow like hers! There are many who receive deep wounds in the heart, but its sin that puts poison on the edge! This poor creature is always reproaching herself, always weeping over the wrong that she did to her child, though I am sure that she was but too fond a mother." "'Oh! Had I known that his days were to be so few,' she cries; and then bursts into an agony of grief, and refuses to receive any comfort." "Oh! Do you not speak to her of the Saviour?" cried Nelly.