“Miss Tudor is very kind to think so well of me and my few accomplishments. I have never been with an invalid, but I think I can promise to be patient, willing, and cheerful. My own experience of illness has taught me how to sympathize with others and love to lighten pain. I shall be very glad to try if you think I have any fitness for the place.” “I do,” and Mrs. Carrol’s face softened as she spoke, for something in Christie’s words or manner seemed to please her. Then slowly, as if the task was a hard one, she added: “My daughter has been very ill and is still weak and nervous. I must hint to you that the loss of one very dear to her was the cause of the illness and the melancholy which now oppresses her. Therefore we must avoid any thing that can suggest or recall this trouble. She cares for nothing as yet, will see no one, and prefers to live alone. She is still so feeble this is but natural; yet solitude is bad for her, and her physician thinks that a new face might rouse her, and the society of one in no way connected with the painful past might interest and do her good. You see it is a little difficult to find just what we want, for a young companion is best, yet must be discreet and firm, as few young people are.” Fancying from Mrs. Carrol’s manner that Miss Tudor had said more in her favor than had been repeated to her, Christie in a few plain-words told her little story, resolving to have no concealments here, and feeling that perhaps her experiences might have given her more firmness and discretion than many women of her age possessed. Mrs. Carrol seemed to find it so; the anxious look lifted a little as she listened, and when Christie ended she said, with a sigh of relief: “Yes, I think Miss Tudor is right, and you are the one we want. Come and try it for a week and then we can decide. Can you begin to-day?” she added, as Christie rose. “Every hour is precious, for my poor girl’s sad solitude weighs on my heart, and this is my one hope.” “I will stay with pleasure,” answered Christie, thinking Mrs. Carrol’s anxiety excessive, yet pitying the mother’s pain, for something in her face suggested the idea that she reproached herself in some way for her daughter’s state. With secret gratitude that she had dressed with care, Christie took off her things and followed Mrs. Carrol upstairs. Entering a room in what seemed to be a wing of the great house, they found an old woman sewing. “How is Helen to-day, Nurse?” asked Mrs. Carrol, pausing. “Poorly, ma’am. I’ve been in every hour, but she only says: ‘Let me be quiet,’ and lies looking up at the picture till it’s fit to break your heart to see her,” answered the woman, with a shake of the head. “I have brought Miss Devon to sit with her a little while. Doctor advises it, and I fancy the experiment may succeed if we can only amuse the dear child, and make her forget herself and her troubles.”