"That's it, pet; that's just what it is. You're grieving yourself to death, and that's wrong. The good Lord has took him home, and if yer try to do right, and love the dear Saviour, he'll call yer in his own good time. Now go to bed, and to-morrow ye 'll look more like yerself." Exhausted by the various emotions of the day, our heroine was soon buried in a profound slumber, from which she did not arouse until the sun was high in the heavens. She started from her couch, and began to dress in great haste, only stopping occasionally to listen to the carolling of the redbreasts, or the familiar sounds from the farmyard. The house was so small it was easy to hear every word spoken. And Helen, as she hurriedly twisted her abundant hair into a heavy coil, and hid it under a net, could distinctly follow the conversation taking place on the open porch beneath her window. "I wish she had never left here," Frank was saying. "I'm afraid her health will be seriously affected. Mr. Knowles would have known exactly how to deal with her." "What hinders her from coming back now? Miss Sybil would be delighted to have her there, and I've heard say that Mr. Frederic is coming home from his travels before long. He could tutor her just as he used to." The listener held her breath. She could not afford to lose one word now. How changed she was. There was an air of softness about her, while her usually pale cheeks were of the richest crimson. What a pity there was nobody but the birds to see her. A little maiden from a neighboring cottage came sauntering up to the door at this moment, to bring some eggs fresh laid, and Frank, impatient at his sister's late appearance, ran gayly up the steep stairs to call her, just as she was saying to herself, with clasped hands: "Oh, what a happiness that would be!" CHAPTER VII. THE FEIGNED AND THE REAL. ON reaching the parsonage, Sybil announced that her father had been called away to the bedside of an aged parishioner. Helen and her brother resolved, therefore, to improve the time of his absence by calling on some of their old protégés. Every where they met with the most cordial welcome. But in one poor hut lay an old woman, bedridden and almost blind, who could not find words to express her joy and gratitude at having her dear friends once more under her roof. "I told my heavenly Father," she said at length, "that I wanted to hear your voices once more. There's the Testament, Miss Helen, just where it used to be, on the shelf. If you'd read a few verses of the good Word, and yer brother 'd say a prayer, as yer father used to, I'd be more than content." During the whole morning the young girl had been quite her former self. But now, as she took the Bible to gratify the old woman's request, Frank saw large drops running down her cheeks. Her voice quivered a little as she asked: