On entering the room, she kissed Helen, and said warmly, "I'm rejoiced at the good news. I've been on my feet all day, walked half over the parish, but I could not rest without coming to tell you how delighted we all are. I only wish your father were alive to be made glad. Stay, I've brought a piece of paper with me. It's from Frederic. I asked him to come along, but he thought it wasn't best, feared for his welcome, I suppose. Why, where is that document? I must have lost it on the road." "Oh, Sybil! I hope not. Look in your pocket again." "I have turned it inside out. See! It's gone, that's clear. Well, I do seem to have changed characters with somebody else. My head has been upside down ever since morning." "I'm so sorry you've lost my note." "'Tisn't worth grieving for, Helen, Frederic scribbled it off just as I was coming away: and he can write bushels more of such letters, if you are willing to spend your time reading them." "To-morrow I shall expect you all here, as usual. I forgot to say so to Mr. Knowles." "I wont forget it; but you mustn't be disappointed if Frederic isn't here. He is going away. I left him packing a box of books." "Going away without bidding me good-by!" gasped the poor girl, seizing the back of a chair for support. "It's a sudden thing, very. It's against my advice, too. I don't think it's a good plan to run away from trials. Stay where you are, Fred, and live them down, is what I told him." "Sybil!" almost shrieked Helen, her eyes protruding, and her whole face white with terror, "tell me the truth, was Frederic bitten by that mad dog? Tell me quick!" The woman laughed. "Not by a dog, child. He's bitten, though, no doubt about that. Don't look so frightened, dear, and don't ask me another question, for as sure as you do, I shall say something I ought not. There, kiss me good-night, for I must go." "No, you must not. Wait till I've written a note, which you must carry safely." She ran to her desk, and presently returned with a folded paper, containing these words: "MY DEAR PRESERVER: If you cannot spare time to say good-by to one whose life you so generously saved, I cannot let you go without saying that as long as I live, I shall thank God for such a friend in my hour of danger. "HELEN JOSEPHINE EDMOND." The next morning our young heroine had not left her chamber, when nurse brought her a note. She smiled as she recognized Sybil's peculiar chirography. The note was brief, and was as follows: "DEAR HELEN: Father has been summoned to a family just beyond Mottville. He wants you to ride there with him, directly after breakfast. I think likely we shall go to Woodbine Cottage as usual, for Frederic has postponed starting for a day or two. "Your true friend, "SYBIL KNOWLES."