"It's something very bad," murmured Anna, "Delia knows. She won't forgive me, I know, but I thought perhaps you would." "Is it to Delia you have done wrong?" asked Mr Goodwin. "No. To you," replied Anna, gaining courage as she went on, "I--" The Professor stroked her fair hair gently. It was just the same colour as Prissy's, he thought. "Then I don't want to hear any more, my dear," he said, "for I know all about it already." The relief was so great, after the effort of speaking, that Anna burst into tears, but they were tears full of comfort, and had no bitterness in them. "Oh, grandfather," she sobbed, "you _are_ good. Better than any one. I will never, never--" "Hush, my dear, hush," said the Professor, patting her hand gently, and trying to console her by all the means in his power. "I wonder where Delia is!" he said at last, finding that his efforts were useless. Anna sat up straight in her chair at the name, and dried her tears. She dreaded seeing Delia, but it must be faced. "She was here the moment before you came in," he continued. "Call her, my dear." It was not possible to be very far off in Mr Goodwin's house, and Delia's voice answered from the kitchen, when Anna opened the door and called her. A few minutes afterwards she came into the room carrying a tray full of tea-things; her quick glance rested first on Anna's tear-stained face, and then on the Professor. "Anna and I have had a nice talk, my dear Delia," he said, with an appealing look, "and now we should all like some tea." Delia understood the look. She put down her tray, went promptly up to Anna, and kissed her: "Come and help me to get the tea ready," she said; "it's quite time the Professor had something to eat." So Anna was forgiven, and it was in this way that, during her visit to Waverley, she began dimly to see what the best things are, and to see it through sorrow and failure. It was a lesson she had to go on learning, like the rest of us, all through her life--not an easy lesson, or one to be quickly known. Sometimes we put it from us impatiently, and choose something which looks more enticing, and not so dull, and for a time we go on our way gaily--and then, a sorrow, or perhaps a sin, brings home to us that everything is worthless compared to Love, Truth, and Faithfulness to Duty, and that if we have been false to them, there is no comfort anywhere until we return to serve them with tears of repentance. THE END.