ear! oh dear! my heart _will_ break.
Those horrid bells! will they never have done?"

* * * * *

At the very moment when poor Joe was thinking that no one on earth cared
for him, that not a heart was the sadder for his sorrow, a kind heart
not far off was feeling very much for him. "I shall not go to church
to-night, aunt Agnes," said Emilie Schomberg, "I shall go and hear what
Sir J.C.'s opinion of poor Joe White is. I cannot get that poor fellow
out of my mind."

"No, poor boy, it is a sad case," said aunt Agnes, "but why it should
keep you from church, my dear, I don't see. _I_ shall go."

So they trotted off, Emilie promising to leave aunt Agnes safe at the
church door, where she met the Parkers just about to enter. "Oh Emilie,"
said little Edith, "poor Joe! we have had Sir J.C.'s opinion, and it is
quite as had if not worse than papa's, there is so much disease and
such great injury done. He is all alone, Emilie, do go and sit with
him."

"It is just what I wish to do, dear, but do you think he will let me?"

"Yes, oh yes, try at least," said Edith, and they parted.

When Emilie rang at the bell Joe was in the midst of his sorrow, but
thinking it might only be a summons for Mr. Parker, he did not take much
notice of it until the door opened and the preaching German lady, as he
called Emilie, entered the room. When she saw his swollen eyes and
flushed face, she wished that she had not intruded, but she went frankly
up to him, and began talking as indifferently as possible, to give him
time to recover himself, said how very cold it was, stirred the fire
into a cheerful blaze, and then relapsed into silence. The silence was
broken at times by heavy sighs, however--they were from poor Joe. Emilie
now went to the piano, and in her clear voice sang softly that beautiful
anthem, "I will arise and go to my Father." It was not the first time
that Joe had shown something like emotion at the sound of music; now it
softened and composed him. "I should like to hear that again," he said,
in a voice so unlike his own that Emilie was surprised.

She sang it and some others that she thought he would like, and then
said, "I hope I have not tired you, but I am afraid you are in pain."

"I am," said Joe, in his old gruff uncivil voice, "in great pain."

"Can I do any thing for you?" asked Emilie, modestly.

"No _nothing_, nothing can be done! I shall have to lie on my back as
long as I live,