"Seems like as if one could talk to that gentleman and open one's mind to him!" said Mary Thorne, a very intelligent old woman in one of the alms houses. "He listens to one, he does, and finds out what one means. I told him all my trouble about the Sacrament,—" a matter on which poor old Mary had been much exercised—"and told him how I was afraid either to come or to stay away. Mr. Lethbridge always said it was want of faith, and Doctor Brown would just say, 'poor soul, poor soul,' kind of pitying like, and then go home and send me some broth or something. He was very kind, but he didn't help me any. But 'Muster Cheriton,' he made it all plain, and now it seems as if I could not wait for Easter to come, that I may go to the Lord's table." Easter came and passed very happily, and it was observed that there were more communicants than were ever seen before. We all went to church in the morning, except Mrs. Chloe, who had failed a great deal of late, and now seldom left her bedroom before noon. In the afternoon, Mr. Lethbridge brought the feast to her, and to old Roberts, who was growing very infirm and hardly able to perform his duties. Amabel and I walked out in the park, gathered a great nosegay for Mrs. Chloe, and talked of our future as young folks will do. Of course, I was to live with Amabel, till I had a home of my own, and was to have the south room which looked toward the church. I was not so light-hearted as Amabel, for Mrs. Thorpe, who wrote to us sometimes, had mentioned in her last letter that her nephew's ship had never been heard from since it sailed for the Indies, and that people were beginning to think something had happened to her. However, I kept my troubles to myself, or rather I tried humbly to lay them on some one better able to bear them than I, and I listened to Amabel's plans and discussed them with real interest and pleasure. "Mrs. Chloe does not talk any more about the set of chairs she was going to begin in the spring," remarked Amabel. "She never says anything now about getting well when the warm weather comes, but I think she seems a great deal happier than she used." "She has given up!" said I. "You know dear Mother Superior used to say that there was great happiness in giving up. Mrs. Chloe told me the other day, that you and Mr. Cheriton, between you, had done her more good than you would ever know." "I am sure I am very glad to hear it!" said Amabel, her quiet eyes shining with pleasure. "Lucy, what have I done that I should be so happy? While you that are so much better in every way—" Amabel stopped short. It was the first time she had given me a hint that she had guessed my secret. "Don't, please, Amabel!" said I. "I hope I can bear all I am called on to endure, but I can't bear to hear it talked about even by you. Forgive me, dear!" For I was afraid I might have hurt her. "There is nothing to forgive!" said Amabel, pressing my arm in hers. "I should feel just so."