It was the crisis of her life, though.

There is such a crisis in the life of each of us, whether we take advantage of it for our good, or whether we allow it to take advantage of us for harm. But what that crisis brought to Theodora I must leave for another chapter.

CHAPTER III.

Loneliness-Theodora's mistake Her brother's love for herAlfred's regrets-The brother and sister become friends-Alfred shows himself in his true colours.

HE felt very lonely, as at length, after all the tumult of feeling of that day, she sat in her bedroom. As she parted with her mother,

Theodora had asked permission to remain with her during the night, saying, that she thought she had better not be alone. But Mrs. Astley declined any such help from her daughter.

'I don't believe mamma loves me much,' thought poor Theodora, as she sat with her hands upon her lap. She had no inclination to go to bed. She felt as if she could never sleep again. 'No one ever really loved me excepting papa. He was my only friend, and he is gone! It is very cruel; my only friend gone; I am quite alone now.'

She kept on repeating this kind of thing to herself, until she felt as if she could not any longer remain there by herself; so she wandered down-stairs to her sister's room. It was a bright moonlight night, and sufficiently

light to see Gertrude and Edith sleeping quietly together, and Georgy in a little bed in the same room.

'How odd that Gertrude should sleep, and papa dead!' thought Theodora. She heard talking as she passed the boys' room; they were not yet asleep; then she heard the baby. He is keeping mamma awake,' thought Theodora, and she passed on her way. It was to the room where her father lay that she was going, and she reached it without noise, and turning the key in the door, went in. She felt as if she should be less lonely and less miserable here than elsewhere. There was a long glass at one end of the room; and as Theodora entered, she caught sight of the reflection of herself in the mirror. She looked very slight and small, and as white as a sheet in the moonlight; and this, when she had held out so long, upset her; even to herself she looked such a poor little miserable thing, that she burst into tears.

Oh, papa papa! why did you leave me? No one but you cares for me-no one, no one! I am quite alone. I wish I had died with you.'

Theodora did not know that some one had followed her very shortly. Her brothers had heard her pass their room, and had wondered who it could be wandering about the house at that time of night. Alfred, the elder, had started from his bed; but Bob, who was not renowned for his courage, felt half afraid, and would not stir. As soon as Alfred opened his room door, he caught sight of Theodora, and saw where she was going; but he said nothing to his brother, he only closed the door

Alfred and his Sister.

15

quietly and followed her, and as she called out in that pitiful tone of voice, he stretched out his arms and caught her hands in his.

'What do you mean, Theo?' he asked. 'Don't I care for you?'

'You?' said Theodora, startled at seeing him so suddenly, standing in his night-shirt, and looking as ghastly white almost as herself. You, Alf! do you care for me?'

'Now, Theo,' said Alfred, 'do you mean really to say you think, because I have teased and bullied you, and been rough, and all that sort of thing, that I don't love you? Why do you come here all alone in the night, and say such dreadful things? Here, look at me, Theo; don't you think I love you? Why, I am your brother, you know; and perhaps you won't believe it, Theo, but I loved my father there very much.'

'Did you ? I am sure you did, Alf; and I know I love you,' said Theodora, hugging him.

'Well, if you love me, who am not much of a fellow at best, isn't it natural that I should love you, Theo, who always have been such a brick of a sister to me, eh?' asked Alfred. Then the boy looked right and left, to make sure that no one else was witnessing, and threw himself upon his sister's neck and cried. 'I tell you what,' said he, when his tears came to so horrid and miserable, I can't tell you. poor father there-I never treated him as I ought. I used to be so careless of what he said; and even at the last I made such a noise that I had to be turned out of the

an end, ‘I feel When I look at

house; but I hadn't the least idea that he would die. If I had had, I would sooner have cut my head off. But there, it's of no use talking now; only, whatever you do, Theo, don't think I don't love you.'

Theodora had before this, with her usual thoughtfulness, wrapped a shawl round Alfred, whose teeth were chattering either from the cold or the excitement of feeling.

'You had better go back to bed, dear,' said she.

'Will you if I do?' he asked.

'I could not sleep,' said Theodora.

'Well, I will go and put on my things, and come back and sit with you. You must not sit here alone. You will imagine somebody else does not love you if you do.' Theodora sighed; for she remembered who had been in her thoughts when she had bewailed her loneliness. It was a comfort to have Alfred with her, and she felt happy compared to what she had felt before he came. He was presently back again, and the two sat down together. Theodora could not help thinking how quickly Alfred seemed to have changed from a child into something almost manly. She said to him in a little while

'You have made me so much happier, Alf; it is so wretched to feel quite alone!'

Alfred was silent for a minute, and then he said—

'Of course, Theo; but, do you know, it seems hardly right to say that you wish you had died, even if you were lonely in the world?'

'I should wish it now, but for you,' said Theodora.