"Winifred, lay hold on eternal life. Whatever may be your lot here, never give up your title to your Heavenly Inheritance. Remember always how He hath said, 'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.' And there is no change in His goodness. I leave you in His hands who never yet failed them that sought Him." This was Winifred's only stay, her one source of courage and comfort. Severe as was the change, heavy as were her bereavements, weary and dull as was her daily toil, fretting as were her daily trials, it was her Heavenly Father who sent or who allowed it all, and therefore all "must" be for her good in the end, though it might be a long time first. She was sure that there was waiting for her a lovely, peaceful home, filled with all those beautiful things which she loved, and many, many others, far beyond anything she had seen or could conceive—a home where all her dear ones were waiting for her or would come at last, and where there would be no more parting forever. This inheritance was "hers,"—prepared for her by her Heavenly Father, sealed and made sure by her Saviour's death and resurrection. It was to be hers at last, however long she might have to wait, and it might be hers any day. She might go to bed any night in her little close bedroom, and awake amid the unspeakable splendors of heaven. Such thoughts gave Winifred courage to live from day to day, making no plans, never looking forward, but leaving all in better hands than her own. They were no longer beautiful dreams, as in the days when she walked over the heath or up to the Hall. They alone were the living realities, and all the rest was but a dream—a weary, troublesome dream, which would pass away in the morning. She was careful to give no just cause of offence, and when she was blamed unjustly, she tried to accept it in the spirit of meekness, knowing that the trial of our faith "worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope: and hope maketh not ashamed." It was with a thankful heart that Winifred dressed herself next day for her that lesson at Lady Corbet's. She thought it likely that she might meet with some disagreeable things. Lady Corbet evidently had a great idea of her own consequence, and seemed to think she was conferring a favor on Winifred by allowing her to teach her daughters. It was very likely also that the young ladies might be proud and consequential. But at all events it was a change. Sir John Corbet lived in the best part of the city, on one of the hills upon which Bristol is built. He had a fine house and also a garden, and the very thought of seeing green and growing plants was pleasant to one who had been shut away from them so long. "How pretty Cousin Winnie looks!" said Betsey, gazing after her cousin as she tripped down the lane with something of her old elastic step.