For the first time in her life, Winifred lost the control of her own mind and feelings. She could not think clearly of anything for five minutes at a time. She could not fix her mind upon the things she had always loved best, or drive away the sadness, the discontent, the wretched forebodings, the distrust of her heavenly Father's love, the doubts of His truth which assailed her. Good Mr. Gunnison, who was instructing the twins preparatory to their approaching confirmation, talked and prayed with her, and in these visits Winifred found great comfort, but too often "the clouds returned after the rain," the temptations and the grief came back again, and the work was once more all to do. Meantime, the weak body languished and lost day by day, and it seemed likely enough that Winifred would fade away and drop into the earth with the fading flowers of autumn. But her work was not yet done, and she could not go home till it was finished. One day she was leaning back listlessly enough in the chair which Ashwell had drawn to the window, that Winifred might look down on the still gay garden and away to the hills beyond the city. She had wearied herself in the attempt to set right the piece of work which the twins in a fit of desperation had brought to show her, and had not half finished, when Ashwell came in, scolded them both well, and sent the girls down, Phyllis crying and Jemima in a fit of sulks, to get out of their difficulty as best they could. Winifred felt tired, disappointed, and utterly discouraged. And as soon as Ashwell had left her, she leaned back in her chair, and gave way to a fit of weeping as childish as that of poor Phyllis. The tears at least did her some good, for she sobbed herself to sleep, and awaked somewhat refreshed and strengthened, and really feeling a little wonder as to what time it was and whether Ashwell would be coming presently with her dinner. She had been dreaming of old times at the Hall—of walking with my lady and working with Mrs. Alwright. The dream was very clear and distinct; she almost felt as though Lady Peckham's inquiry was still ringing in her ear: "And where is my little Winifred?" There seemed a good deal of bustle in the house which she could not understand—and then, why did not Ashwell come? The door opened. It was not Ashwell with the tray, however, but Paulina, with a little flush of color in her cheeks, and a certain excitement in her manner. She came to Winifred's chair and kissed her. "Do you feel better? I peeped in a few moments ago, and you were fast asleep in your chair, with the tears on your cheeks! What had you been crying for, you naughty child? Like Phyllis, because Ashwell scolded you?" "I hardly know myself," returned Winifred, winking away the tears which would stay very near her eyes. "I felt sorry for the poor girls, and vexed at myself for being so easily tired. But, Paulina, if they will bring up their frames now, I will try to show them."