"'Cos it would hurt so here to think of you burning in hell"--Beth clasped her chest. "It always begins to ache here--in the evening--for the people who aren't saved, and when I go to bed it makes me cry." "Who told you about being saved, and that?" "Aunt Victoria. She lives with us, you know. She's going away now to pay a visit, because the boys are coming home, and Mildred, for the holidays, and there wouldn't be room for her. I'm dreadfully sorry; but I shall go to church, and read the Bible just the same when she's away." Count Gustav sat down on the end of the saloon-table and reflected a little; then he said--"I wouldn't read anything, if I were you, while Aunt Victoria's away. Just play about with Mildred and the boys, and come out fishing with me sometimes. God doesn't want _you_ to save people. He does that Himself. I expect He's very angry because you cry at night. He thinks you don't trust Him. All He wants you to do is to love Him, and trust Him, and be happy. That's the creed for a little girl." "Do you think so?" Beth gasped. Then she began to reflect, and her big grey eyes slowly dilated, while at the same time a look of intense relief relaxed the muscles of her pinched little face. "Do you think so?" she repeated. Then suddenly she burst into tears. Count Gustav, somewhat disconcerted, hurriedly handed her a handkerchief. Another gentleman came into the saloon at the moment, and raised inquiring eyebrows. "Only a little martyr, momentarily released from suffering, enjoying the reaction," Count Gustav observed. "Come on deck, and let her sleep. Do you hear, little lady, go to sleep." Beth, docile to a fault when gently handled, nestled down among the blankets, shut her eyes, and prepared to obey. The sound of the water rippling off the sides of the yacht as it glided on smoothly over the summer-sea both soothed and cheered her. Heavenly thoughts came crowding into her mind; then sleep surprised her, with the tears she had been shedding for the sufferings of others still wet upon her cheek. When she awoke, her clothes were beside her, ready to put on. She jumped up instantly, dressed, and went on deck. The yacht was almost stationary, and the two gentlemen, attended by the black Dane, Gard, were fishing. Away to starboard, the land lay like a silver mist in the heat of the afternoon. Beth turned her sorrowful little face towards it. "Are you homesick, Beth?" Count Gustav asked. "No, sick of home," Beth answered; "but I suppose I shall have to go back." "And what then?" "Mamma will punish me for jumping into the harbour, I expect." "_Jumping_ in!" he ejaculated, and then a great gravity settled upon him, and he cogitated for some time. "Why did you jump in?" he said at last. "Because mamma--because mamma--" her chest heaved. She was ashamed to say.