fear, seemed to awaken in her heart. To wake the little one to this hurried incomprehensible night journey seemed terrible--yet somehow Helen felt a reluctant conviction that Janey would adapt herself to the adventure better than she herself should. The child’s sleep, however, was so profound, and there was something so contrary to all the prejudices of education in waking her up at that hour, that only the thought of her father’s severe and haggard countenance kept Helen to her errand. She had even turned away to go back to him--to say that she could not do it--when the greater evil of having to return again, and of, perhaps, meeting nurse next time, prevailed. She got a warm little pelisse, with many capes--a piquant little Parisian garment, which had tantalised all the mothers in the district--out of its drawer, and put the little shoes ready. Then she bent over her small sister and called her. “Janey, wake up, wake up; papa wants you. Wake up; we are to go with him if you are quiet and don’t cry.” The child sat up in her bed, awake all at once, with big, dark eyes, opening like windows in her pale face. “I am not doing to cry,” she said, and stared at her sister through the gloom, which was faintly illuminated by the night-lamp. Janey was, as Helen had anticipated, much more at home in the emergency than she was. She woke up in a moment, as children do, not with a margin of bewilderment and confusion such as is common to us--but wide awake, with all her little intelligence fresh and on the alert. “What is it? what is it, Helen?” “I don’t know; but you are to go down to papa. You are to be quiet; you are not to cry. We are going with him.” “Where? where?” “I don’t know,” said Helen, ready to weep with the strange and wild confusion, the sense of misery and wretchedness which was involved to her in this overthrowal of all habits, this sudden secrecy and adventure in the dark. But little Janey clapped her hands. It was a delightful novelty to the child. She pulled on her stockings on her own small pink feet, her eyes dancing with pleasure and excitement. No need to carry her down asleep, as Helen with terror and doubt of her own powers had feared. “You must be quiet; you must be quiet--not to let the servants know,” the elder sister whispered. “I am doing to be quiet,” said the little girl, delighted with the mystery. She thrust her big doll into her bed, and covered it carefully, while Helen, not knowing what she did, picked up various fugitive articles, half-consciously, and put them into the pockets of the ulster which she had put on. “Be dood, baby, and keep my little bed warm till I come back,” sang little Janey. “Oh, hush, hush! you are to be quiet--you are to be quiet,” Helen said.