bed and all was still, that Helen, looking like a little ghost, would steal down-stairs, and stationing herself on the mat outside her father's room, with her ear pressed against the door, would wait for hours listening for every sound that could be heard from within. Thus she would often remain feeling amply rewarded if she did but catch a sound of her father's voice, until pale dawn and a faint movement overhead warned her that she must return to her room or risk discovery. At last there came a day--a languid spring day--when a more than ordinary sense of gloom seemed to oppress the now cheerless house. Martha, the maid, said but little in answer to Helen's eager inquiries; but she sighed incessantly during breakfast, and when the young lady pushed away her plate of porridge untasted, spoke of chastisements which might not improbably befall her in the near future. To these remarks Helen paid but little heed, although she was conscious that Martha's sighs were re-echoed by the other servants as they went about their work languidly, making observations to one another in penetrating whispers, throwing looks of pitiful meaning at Helen herself as, a wan, dejected little figure, she passed up and down stairs. All this the girl saw and noted; but she said nothing, dreading, perhaps, what she might hear. Miss Walker arrived as usual, but even she seemed in no great hurry to begin lessons; and she made no remarks about her pupil's imperfectly-mastered tasks, but put the lesson-books down quickly with a sigh of relief. It was the day for French verbs, too. "_J'ai, Tu as, Il_--. How does it go?" thought Helen in despair. Was she going to be stupid just on this day when Miss Walker's forbearance left her no excuse? She must remember. How does it go? "_J'ai, Tu_--." Worse and worse. And, yes, that was Dr. Russell's footstep in the hall. "Oh, Miss Walker! dear Miss Walker! let me go for one moment and speak to the doctor." Before Helen knew what she was doing she had burst into tears, and Miss Walker was actually holding her hand and trying to comfort her, and telling her that her father was indeed very, very ill, but that there was no need to despair. How that day went by Helen, looking back afterwards, never quite knew. There were no more lessons, and Miss Walker appeared in quite a new light, never once finding fault with her pupil, but actually trying to amuse her and to draw her from her sad thoughts. Helen tried to feel grateful, although not very successfully. In the first place, it was difficult to dissociate Miss Walker from perpetual fault-finding, and in the second place, although the girl dreaded being left alone, she was in no mood to be amused. She was in fact entirely preoccupied with one question--how to see her father; for see him she must, she told herself.