tability, which they had said to one another were hopeful signs, passed away. His smiles were more languid and constrained, and he soon failed to recognise the anxious, loving friends who ministered to his wants.

Before this the mother's strength had quite failed; and the father, unused to the sight of suffering, shrank from looking on the last agony of his child. Through all his illness the little boy had clung to Christie-never quite at rest, even in the arms of his mother, unless his Christie was near. Her voice had soothed him, her hands had ministered to his comfort, her care had been lavished on him, through all those lingering days and nights. And now it was Christie who met his last smile and listened to his last murmured "Good-night!" Yes, it was Christie who closed his eyes at last, and straightened his limbs in their last repose. She helped to robe him for the grave, and to lay him in his little coffin; and all the time there was coming and going through her mind a verse she had learned long ago

"Now, like a dew-drop shrined
Within a crystal stone,

Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove;
Safe in the arms of Jesus,

The everlasting One !"

CHAPTER XI.

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.

ND now a sad silence fell on the household.

The

children were not to be brought home for some time, the doctor said; and their mother was not able to go to them; so Christie was left to the almost unbroken quiet of her forsaken nursery. She needed rest more than she was aware, and sank into a state of passive indifference to all things, which would have alarmed herself had not her kind friend, Mrs. Greenly, been there to insist that she should be relieved of care till her over-tasked strength should be in some measure restored. In those very quiet hours, thoughts of home came to her only as a vague and shadowy remembrance. The events of the winter, and even the more recent sufferings of the last month, seemed like a dream to her. Dearly as she had loved her little charges, she was hardly conscious of regret at their loss. It seemed like something that had happened long ago their long suffering and departure. The very promises which had of late become so sweet to her, soothed her merely as a pleasant sound might do. She scarcely took note of their meaning or power during those days.

But this soon passed away, and with returning strength came back with double force the old longing to go home. She had sent a line to Effie when little Harry was taken ill, telling her how utterly impossible it would be for her to leave her place. Since then, about the time of the baby's death, a neighbour had called, and by him she had sent the same message, assuring her sister that she was quite content to stay. But her old eagerness to get home came back, now that she found herself with little to occupy her, and she waited anxiously for the time when Mrs. Lee might be spoken to on the subject.

In the meantime, Mrs. Greenly was called away, and the duty of attendance upon Mrs. Lee once more devolved on Christie. If anything could have banished from her heart all thought of home or all wish for change, the days that followed would have done so. Not an hour passed in which she was not made to feel that she was a comfort to her friend—for friends, in the highest sense, the mistress and her little maid were fast becoming. The readings and conversations which had been begun during their long watches together were renewed; and blessed seasons they proved to both. Christie never knew—never could know on earth-all the good she did Mrs. Lee in those days. She was only conscious of an ever-increasing love for her and an ever-increasing desire to serve her.

If in the first agony of her bereavement there had been in the mother's heart murmuring and rebellious thoughts, they were all stilled now. With more than the submission of a chastened child-with joy that had in it a sense of reconciliation and acceptance-she was enabled to kiss the Hand that had smitten her. She seldom spoke of her children; but when she did, it was with gratitude that they had been hers, and were still hers, in heaven. Seen

by the new light that was dawning on her soul, the world, its hopes and fears and interests, looked to her very different. Humble submission and cheerful trust took the place of her old, anxious forebodings. Scripture truths, which formerly conveyed no distinct idea to her mind, came home to her now with power. They were living truths, full of hope and comfort. The promises were to her a place of rest and refuge-a strong tower, into which she could run and be safe. By slow degrees the light of the glorious Gospel of Jesus Christ dawned upon her soul; and to one fearful and doubtful of the future, as she had been, what blessed rest and refreshment was in the trust, that gradually grew strong, in the embrace of an Arm mighty to save! To know herself one of those to whom Jesus has given a right to say, "I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me," was all that she needed for her consolation; and during those days the blessed knowledge came to her.

What part the simple words and earnest prayers of her little nurse had in bringing about this blessed change, God knows. The girl herself had little thought of the good which her entrance into the household had wrought. It might have helped her to a more patient waiting had she known how often her name was mingled with the thankful praises of Mrs. Lee. She was not impatient, but a longing for home that would not be stilled mingled with the gladness that filled her heart at the thought of being useful.

Summer had come. June was half over, and the only glimpse of green she had had was the top of the mountain, far away. Now and then Nelly brought home from the market a bunch of garden-flowers. But the sight of them only made her long the more for the fields where so many

flowers that she knew had blossomed and faded unseen. More than once, when sent out by Mrs. Lee to take the air, she had tried to extend her walk in one direction or another, till she should reach the country. But partly because she did not know the way, and partly because she grew so soon weary, she never succeeded. She had to content herself with the nearest street where there were trees growing, and now and then a peep through open gateways upon little dusty strips of grass or garden-ground.

Oh, how close and hot and like a prison the long, narrow streets seemed to her! How weary the street noises made her! It was foolish, she knew, and so she told herself often, to vex herself with idle fancies. But sometimes there came back to her, with a vividness which for the moment was like reality, the memory of familiar sights and sounds. Sometimes it was the wind waving the trees, or the ripple of the brook over the stepping-stones; sometimes it was the bleating of the young lambs in the pastures far away. She caught glimpses of familiar faces in the crowd, as she used to do in the home-sick days when she first came; and she could not always smile at her folly. Sometimes her disappointment would send her home sad and dispirited enough. Almost always the smile that met her as she entered Mrs. Lee's room brought back her content; but often it needed a greater effort to be cheerful than an on-looker could have guessed. Still, the effort was always made, and never without some measure of success.

One morning she rose more depressed than usual. A quiet half-hour with her little Bible was not sufficient to raise her spirits, though she told herself it ought to be; and she said to herself, as she went downstairs, "I will speak to-day about going home." On this par

Mrs. Lee was able to go downstairs now.