Helen was more moved than any of us. Her lips turned white, and she caught hold of the table to steady herself. Since the boys had left home my mother had become a voluminous letter-writer. We had no fear that she would fail us. There was a thin letter to my father, which he patiently put aside, meaning, as I knew, to make it out painfully and slowly when he was alone. Another well-filled envelope was directed to me. Lady Helen sighed as she saw one closely written sheet drawn out after another. Compassionating her impatience, I began to read aloud.

"DEAR CHILDREN,-Hilary and I arrived safely, and are not the worse for our hasty journey. Please tell papa often how very well we both are. You perhaps all thought that dearest Hilary looked pale, and unlike himself, when you saw him. I fear you will have been making yourselves unhappy on his account, so I begin by assuring you that he is well, and that I don't at present see any reason to suppose that he has taken the fever."

Lady Helen groaned, and I skipped several sentences, and, beginning on the next sheet, found myself in the midst of minute directions as to what we were to do if our father should be taken ill,

interspersed with cautions about the safe putting out at night of the gaslights and the kitchen-fire. At length, on the third sheet I saw Rosamond's name, and, beginning at the commencement of the sentence, I read boldly on :—

"It is very strange to be writing all these cautions to you, my darlings, while I sit watching by the side of Rosamond Lester's bed. She has been in a tranquil sleep for the last hour, while perhaps I am wanted at home; and yet, dear children-though I can hardly bear to think of your missing me, though I wonder every minute how everything looks at home I cannot be sorry that I came, for I feel that I am wanted. I don't want to blame the people here. I am sure it is because they know no better; but it does go to my heart to find how little common sense and common self-denial have been shown by this poor child's nurses. It is very sad for a girl to have no mother. Poor Mrs. Western indeed has done what she could, but she is inexperienced, and at best, I should fear, a helpless person. I have had a very busy night and morning, but now, in the afternoon, I am resting, and enjoying this talk with you. Dear Hilary is, I trust, lying

down. I find he has not slept for several nights. I comforted him some hours ago, by giving him a favourable report of our invalid. This sweet sleep is a great gain. As I stooped over the bed just now she smiled, as if she were dreaming pleasantly. I think she will know me when she wakes, for even before she slept she used to turn towards me when I spoke, as if the sound of my voice pleased her. We must not be too sanguine, however. She is already very weak, and the doctors fear that, when the fever leaves her, she will sink from exhaustion. I am thankful to say I do not share that fear. I have told Hilary so. I trust I am not raising false hopes. Hilary is to stay at Morfa Mawr as long as I am here. That is an inexpressible comfort to me. I have just stolen softly into his room and found him sleeping. Rosamond Lester also still sleeps. I cannot close letter with better news.

my

"Your most loving mother,

"ERNESTINE SCOTT."

Lady Helen listened anxiously to every word, and was the first to speak when I ceased reading.

"I think—I trust-it is good news," she repeated, more than once.

Nesta and I were eager in our assurances that it was, and we dwelt with hopefulness, which grew into certainty, as we talked, on every favourable point in our mother's letter. My father and Lady Helen shook their heads over some of our happy predictions, but I think they liked to hear them, and were somewhat infected by our hopefulness before the breakfast-hour was over.

During the course of the day, Lady Helen returned. to her own home. She wished very much to take Nesta with her, but our father would not permit it. When he returned from afternoon school, and found our unexpected guest departed, he was inhospitable enough to express great satisfaction; and he made Nesta rather angry by predicting that we should not see her again, or hear more of the sudden affection she professed to have conceived for us.

In this, however, he was mistaken. During the following weeks, Lady Helen called at our house frequently; sometimes to take Nesta out for a drive into the country, oftener to sit an hour with us in the evening, and hear the news we had received in the morning's letters from Morfa. We usually read our mother's letters aloud a second time to our father in the evening. Lady Helen frequently contrived to be

present at this time, and showed such an eager interest in every scrap of Morfa news, that we felt it would be unkind not to let her share our mother's

minute account of each day's progress. For some days the reports of Rosamond's health were very variable; now the symptoms were favourable, and then there had been a relapse, and life or death again hung in the balance. Our mother, through having to watch and guard her patient with intense unresting anxiety-to fight, as it were, for her very life

-was drawn day by day to regard her with a protecting motherly tenderness, such as she had never hitherto given to any one out of the home circle. The first letter which did not refer wholly to the concerns of the sick-room, was written a few days after the crisis of the fever had passed, when Rosamond's ultimate recovery was considered secure. I remember it, because it described persons and places with which we had much concern afterwards; and it interests me to look again at that first picture of them which my mother drew with delicate, minute touches for us :

"I have now been a fortnight at Morfa, but I must not tell my dear children how very long the time has seemed to me. To-day I went out for a little walk,