h; there was One Who had made Himself an
outcast and a wanderer, and Who had not where to lay His Head. Was not
He touched with a fellow-feeling for the lonely boy? Would He not help
him to bear his friendless lot as a share of His own Cross? Nay, had He
not raised him up friends already in his utmost need? 'There is a Friend
Who sticketh closer than a brother.' He was the Friend that Paul need
never lose, and in Whom he could still meet his dear Alfred. These
thoughts, not quite formed, but something like them, came gently as balm
to the poor boy, and though they brought tears even thicker than the
first burst of lonely sorrow, they were as peaceful as those shed beside
the grave. Though Paul was absent in the body, this was a very different
shutting out from Harold's on last Tuesday.

Paul must have cried himself to sleep, for he did not hear the funeral-
party return, and was first roused by Mrs. King coming up-stairs. He had
been so much used to think of this as Alfred's room, that he had never
recollected that it was hers; and now that she was come up for a moment's
breathing-time, he started up ashamed and shocked at being so caught.

But good motherly Mrs. King saw it all, and how he had been weeping where
her child had so long rested. Indeed, his face was swelled with crying,
and his voice all unsteady.

'Poor lad! poor lad!' she said kindly, 'you were as fond of him as any of
them; and if we wanted anything else to make you one of us, that would do
it.'

'O Mother,' said Paul, as she kindly put her hand on him, 'I could not
bear it--I was so lost--till I looked at _that_,' pointing to the little
print.

'Ay,' said Mrs. King, as she wiped her quiet tears, 'that Cross was
Alfred's great comfort, and so it is to us all, my boy, whatever way we
have to carry it, till we come to where he is gone. No cross, no crown,
they say.'

Perhaps it was not bad for any one that this forlorn day had given Paul a
fresh chill, which kept him in bed for nearly a week, so as gently to
break the change from her life of nursing to Mrs. King, and make him very
happy and peaceful in her care.

And when at last on a warm sunny Sunday, Paul Blackthorn returned thanks
in church for his recovery--ay, and for a great deal besides--he had no
reason to think that he was a stranger cared for by no one.

CHAPTER XIII--SIX YEARS LATER

It is a beautiful morning in Easter week. The sun is shining on the
gilded weathe