"You?-what will become-who will take care ?" She quieted him by saying there were friends near. Mrs. Henderson would be with her, He must not be anxious; he need not fear. But the words came mechanically, and had no echo in her heart. It felt to her as if all life, her's as well as his, was rapidly uncoiling to the end.

soon.

And so, in a watchfulness that was almost incessant, these signal days in the girl's history were swept by into the irrevocable past. She scarcely seemed to need sleep, in the strangely transcendental state both of mind and body which had now come upon her. And as the end drew nearer and nearer with perceptible steps, and the moments grew more sacred and precious of every advancing hour, she never wearied-never flagged. For hours together she sat or knelt untired beside the bed, praying with him-reading to him—often breaking off to murmur words of tenderness and comfort, long after he was too weak to reply except by a feeble pressure of the hand he held. It was a very calm and gradual passing away. There came the time when nothing could be done, except now and again to raise the continually sinking head, wipe the damp brows, and finally-clasping the nerveless hand close, to watch and listen while the frail breath gradually, gradually ceased even faintly to stir the

silence, and the calm of the dying lapsed into the infinite peace of the dead.

An hour afterwards, Dr. Henderson approached her, and sought to raise her from where she still knelt by the bedside. She looked up at him with a tearless desolation in her eyes that he did not soon forget.

"Do not be afraid. I am quiet, you see. And there is no more for me to do. But let me stay." "No. Now you must take care of yourself."

"Oh, why ?" she cried, sudderly and wildly. He caught her hands, which she had extended in a passionate gesture of remonstrance. No less restrainingly, his stedfast eyes seemed to hold her and command her into quiet.

"You must take care of yourself, if only for the sake of those who love you," he said gently and firmly. She shrunk back. The words seemed to smite her. They came mockingly and incongruously on the chaos of her spirit, wherein collapse had already succeeded the unnatural tension which had lasted so long. Her lips quivered into a bitter smile.

“Ah, let me be !" she repeated many times with dreary calmness."Only let me be-let me be!" "But I cannot. I must tell you-letters have been written to your friends in England," the Doctor went

on, cautiously feeling his way as he went, by the look of her face," and answers have arrived already. They lost no time, these friends. They started at once, and travelled fast. They are on their way— they will be with you soon-very soon."

He had judged rightly of the way to rouse her. A gleam came into her heavy eyes, as she echoed mechanically, "With me, soon ?"

"Yes. You must prepare for them-you must -There! Come with me."

As if in a dream she suffered him then to lead her away. As if in a dream she passed into another room where two figures started forward as she came; and still more as if in a dream- !

Only a cry told that she knew them-a sad, feeble cry that it rent their hearts to hear, it was so eloquent of what had been. And then, into the warm shelter of their arms Aunt Phrasie and Eve received her bruised and broken, faded and worn, utterly weak and exhausted almost unto death.

CHAPTER X.

DARK HOURS BEFORE THE DAWN.

TRULY it was Aunt Phrasie and Eve. It had not been difficult for them to decide what should be done, when three mornings before, a letter arrived at Chelsea from Miss Matty Thornburgh, who, prompted by Mrs. Henderson, wrote immediately after the Doctor had been summoned, to tell of Mr. Lisle's dangerous illness and his daughter's forlorn position. They had started at once, and travelled with all possible speed. And to the credit of the feeble-minded woman and the inexperienced girl be it said, that had they been the most sophisticated of travellers, and clad in proof-armour of worldly knowledge, they could scarcely have been less troubled by fears and fancies, either reasonable or unreasonable, or have made the journey with greater speed and safety. But even in these days, we surely do not need to be reminded, by a trivial example like this, of how much potential courage exists in the

most timid and tenderly nurtured, how much latent "practical wisdom" in the least experienced and worldly among women. Bravery and power of endurance are not the peculiar birthright of the strong; prudence and foresight and common-sense generally, are not actually incompatible with that gentleness and sensitive delicacy of temperament which we love to call "womanly." When the call to action is heard, the response does not often fail; and with the trial most frequently comes the strength to support it. For verily, Love, pure and unselfish, would seem to be divinely comprehensive of the virtues, and moreover, to alone possess the subtle gift of rightfully balancing them all. While our restless humanity strives and questions and loses itself in controversy concerning the duties and capacities of men and women, whether they be distinct, or similar, or identical; lo, an unseen Teacher so informs the nature where it is given room to dwell, that under its holy influence weak women become strong, and strong men gentle; the timid learn to be fearless and self-reliant, the courageous to be humble, and the energetic to be patient.

Poor Phrasie! When Dr. Henderson's hushed, reverent voice told them, "It is over-she is alone," a great pang, utterly new to her fond faithful heart,