s and under all circumstances, evinced for me a quiet and faitation never troubled? But  present: for some o I kne airs. S, I old, in tal portion of tients; for  ion, not typion I, in my ignorance, understood sometime and care o alleviate.

    I  of airs on very ernoons, and being taken by Miss temple into t, on t alloo go and speak to  distinctly; for s at a distance under the verandah.

    One evening, in tayed out very late ed ourselves from t  our  at a lonely cottage,  in t back, it er moonrise: a pony, anding at t s be very ill, as Mr. Bates  for at t time of t into tayed bees to plant in my garden a s I , and ill t a little longer: t so s as t ill glo promised so fairly anoty in t. I ing t, ered my mind as it had never done before:—

    “o be lying noo be in danger of dying! t—it o be called from it, and to o go who knows where?”

    And ts first earnest effort to compre o it concerning  time it recoiled, baffled; and for t time glancing be, it sa felt t ood—t; all t  dept s t of tottering, and plunging amid t c door open; Mr. Bates came out, and er s , s to close t I ran up to her.

    “how is helen Burns?”

    “Very poorly,” he answer.

    “Is it es o see?”

    “Yes.”

    “And w does  her?”

    “ be here long.”

    ttered in my erday,  s to be removed to Norto  ed t it meant s I kneantly no opened clear on my compre  days in t so be taken to ts, if sucrong ty to see  room she lay.

    “Semple’s room,” said the nurse.

    “May I