The clock was striking twelve when Charles Taylor opened the iron gate that led to Mrs. Brewster’s house; the house, with the exception of one window looked dark, even the hall lamp was out and he was afraid that all had retired. From that window a dull light shone behind the blind; a stationary light it had been of late, to be seen by any wayfarer all night long for it came from the sick girl’s room. A rap upon the door brought Eliza. “Oh, sir,” she exclaimed in surprise of seeing him so late, “I think Miss Janey has gone to bed.” Mrs. Brewster came running down the stairs as he stepped into the hall; she also was surprised at his late visit. “I would not have disturbed you, but I am about to depart for Waterville,” he explained. “A telegram has arrived from Mrs. Bangs, calling me there. I should like to see Janey before I go. I don’t know how long I may be gone.” “I sent Janey to her bed, her head ached,” said Mrs. Brewster, “she has not been up very long. Oh, Mr. Taylor, this has been such a day of grief, heads and and hearts alike aching.” Charles Taylor entered the drawing-room, and Mrs. Brewster proceeded to her daughter’s chamber; softly opening the door, she looked in. Janey, undisturbed by the noise of his visit, for she had not supposed it to be a visit relating to her, was kneeling down by the bed saying her prayers, her face buried in her hands, and the light from the candle shining on her smooth hair. A minute or so her mother remained silent, and then Janey arose; she had not begun to undress. It was the first intimation she had that anyone was there, and she recoiled with surprise. “Mamma, how you scared me! Mary Ann is not worse?” “She can’t well be worse on this side of the grave. Mr. Taylor is in the drawing-room, and wishes to see you.” She went down at once. Mrs. Brewster did not go with her, but went into her sick daughter’s room. The fire in the drawing-room was low, and Eliza had been in to stir it up. Charles stood before it with Janey, telling her of his unexpected journey. The red embers threw a glow upon her face, her brow looked heavy, her eyes swollen. He saw the signs, and laid his hand fondly on her head. “What has given you the headache, Janey?” The tears came into her eyes. “It does ache very much,” she answered. “Has crying caused it?” “Yes,” she said, “it is of no use to deny it, for you could have seen it by my swollen eyelids. I have wept to-day until it seems I can weep no longer, and it has made my eyes ache and my heart dull and heavy.” “But, my dear, you should not give way to this grief; it may render you seriously ill.” “Oh, Charles, how can I help it,” she replied with emotion, as the tears rolled swiftly down her cheeks.