As soon as this news had reached the Manse, both Helen and her father felt the greatest anxiety; wishing, yet fearing to see one who would recall so many bitter thoughts to their minds. The having a few days to prepare themselves for this meeting was of great service to them: for, long before the time of his arrival was come, the delight of once more seeing a being so beloved had overcome in their minds all unpleasant reflections. Not so with Mrs. Elliott. When his arrival in England was first mentioned to her she made no remark, not even when it was told her that he was coming down with her son; but, as soon as she understood that he was coming alone, she informed Helen she was determined to go away before he arrived, and would take that time for paying a long promised visit to some friends at Melrose. Helen was absolutely in despair when she heard this. Her grandmother had been very far from well for some time, and was in her opinion quite unable to take such a journey; she therefore used every argument she could think of herself, being very unwilling to let her father know any thing of the matter if she could possibly help it, but all was in vain. She was therefore obliged, at last, to tell him what was her grandmother's intention. Mr. Martin was excessively distressed. He joined Helen in her entreaties, representing, in the mildest way, the great necessity we all have for forgiveness from our heavenly father, and that therefore it becomes a first-rate duty to forgive those who injure us. Poor William, now that he was sensible of his former bad conduct, was in fact an object rather of pity than of dislike; since in all probability he would never in this life be able to forgive himself. All their arguments were however vain, till Helen said, "Well, my dear grandmother, since you really are determined to act in this cruel manner, it must deprive me of the pleasure of enjoying my brother's society whilst he is here; for, in the state of your health, I consider my self bound, both by affection and the solemn promise I gave my dearest mother on her death-bed, never to separate from you while you require any assistance; and I never will, however much it may cost me. My father will receive William, and I hope will explain to him the great sacrifice I am taking in not remaining to welcome him; I have no doubt my brother will come and see me at the inn at Melrose; for I know not how I could bear to be entirely deprived of seeing an object, endeared to me, both by natural affection, and by the strong injunctions of one whom, I trust, I have never yet intentionally disobeyed."--"You are right, my dearest girl," said her father, "your grandmother must not be permitted to go alone in the present state of her health. It is a great sacrifice we must all make to part at this time; but to you, my sweet child, it is even of more importance than to any of us, as it must in a great degree prevent that intimacy and friendship taking