The child was sleeping, and previous to Lotte’s commencement of the conversation, Helen was sitting abstracted in deep reflection upon the past. From this she was roused by Lotte’s remarks, and now she sat and gazed in painful wonder upon her face. It was pinched, haggard and wan; it was as different from that round, sweet, pleasant countenance, she had looked upon with a satisfied assurance that its owner was entitled to her fullest confidence, when first alone with her in her own neat little chamber, as could be conceived. Lotte’s once well-rounded form was wasted, too; her dress sat loosely upon her, and her white hands looked long and bony. The words she uttered rang in Helen’s ears. “By sitting close to my work, I can support us all comfortably.” She, weak, wasted, and ill, to devote herself to such a task! The whole of Lotte’s past services and exertions, and her own unconscious selfishness, suddenly flashed through Helen’s brain. She now arrived at a more clear and complete appreciation of what Lotte had really done for her, what she had sacrificed and what she had suffered. Then came the question as to motive. Helen rapidly retraced the events of her past acquaintance with her young companion, and endeavoured in such prospects of the future as might have presented themselves to her, to find an incentive for such tender devotion as she had evinced towards her, from first to last; but she could discover nothing which detracted from her pure womanly sympathy, her unselfish disinterestedness. How Helen’s heart warmed to her, as she reached the only conclusion it was possible to form. And Lotte looked so attenuated, so strengthless, so much as though she had overtaxed her powers, and was gradually sinking into the arms of death, that, as Helen gazed upon her, her eyes filled with tears, which shut her out from her sight. Then she rose up, and moved towards her hastily; she flung her arms about her, and wept passionately upon her neck; making Lotte both surprised and alarmed. “What have I said?” she ejaculated, quickly; “oh! nothing I hope to pain you, Helen.” Helen drove back her tears. She raised up her head, seized Lotte’s hands, and kissed them ardently. “I am pained, dearest Lotte,” she exclaimed, with quivering earnestness, but striving to speak collectedly, “because now I see that while you have been my constant, generous disinterested friend; faithful, self-sacrificing, and unwearied in your kind, very kind services to me, I have been altogether selfish, exacting and inconsiderate----” “Nay, do not say so,” interposed Lotte. “My sweet friend, who can judge so well as I?” continued Helen. “What am I to you that you should have done all this for me?” “I have told you,”--again interrupted Lotte, but Helen would not let her finish.