“Hannah, we shall go on the beach to-morrow morning, and so I shall be able to spare you in the afternoon; I shall not take the children farther than the garden. You can go and have tea with your sister, if you like, and you need not hurry home. I am growing far too idle, and I have not half enough to do,” for I wanted to check any expression of gratitude on the girl’s part, but a tap at the door silenced us both. It was only Miss Cheriton come to wish me good-night. She had a basket of fruit and a dainty little bunch of roses in her hand. “I saw the light in your window, and thought of the poor prisoner behind it, and I thought this would cheer you up,” laying her pretty offerings on the table. “I am going to take you all for a drive to-morrow through Orton-on-Sea; the children will like to see the shops and jetty. Well, good-night; I am dreadfully sleepy; to-morrow we will have another long talk.” And then she left me alone with the roses. (_To be continued._) [Illustration] FAITH AND UNFAITH. BY SARAH DOUDNEY. [Illustration: “SHE SAT ALONE BY THE FIRE ONE DAY.”] “Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers.”—_Tennyson._ She sat alone by the fire one day; The winds were sobbing outside the pane, And over the meadows and hillsides grey The clouds hung heavy with rain. But down in the garden-paths she knew Last summer’s leaves were lingering yet, Leaves that had taken the sun and the dew Of days she would fain forget. She sat alone, and the firelight gleamed On a little golden ring she wore, And her tears fell fast for the hopes that beamed In the years that come no more. She drew the ring from her hand, and said, “Why should I cling to the outward sign Of a love that now in his heart lies dead, Though it lives and burns in mine?” But a voice said, “Silence is not death; Wait on in patience and bear your pain; You may dim the gold by a single breath, But it shines out bright again! “Love is not love if it cannot trust, And faith should shine like the virgin gold, A treasure unsullied by moth or rust, That never is bought and sold.” THE INHERITANCE OF A GOOD NAME. BY LOUISA MENZIES. CHAPTER II. VENUS’S FLY-TRAP. “Mark, will you come to Sunbridge Woods and look for Venus’s fly-trap?”[1] “With all my heart, Sorella; but what will mother do?” “Oh, mother will be quite happy in the garden under your tent. She cannot walk in the heat, you know; but perhaps she’ll come and meet us if she does not drive with auntie.”