Helen left the church; Helen put her arm
into her sister's, a thing which Elizabeth very seldom liked anyone to
do, even Anne, but now the two girls walked slowly arm-in-arm, through
the quadrangle, and along the broad gravel path in the Vicarage garden.

'Then you were at her funeral?' was the first thing Helen said.

'Yes,' said Elizabeth; 'Papa wished it, and I am sure I am very glad
they let me go.'

No more was spoken till Helen began again. 'When I was at Dykelands,
Mrs. Staunton used often to talk to me about our mother, and I began to
try to recollect her, but I had only an impression of something kind,
some voice I should know again, but I could not remember her in the
least.'

'Ah! I wish you could,' said Elizabeth thoughtfully.

'I suppose you remember her quite well,' said Helen, 'and all that
happened?'

'Yes,' said Elizabeth, 'I remember some things as well as if they had
happened yesterday, and others are all confusion in my mind; I quite
remember going to kiss her, the last day, and how strange and silent
and sad all the room looked, and Aunt Anne keeping quite calm and
composed in the room, but beginning to cry as soon as she had led me
out. I shall never forget the awful mysterious feelings I had then.'

'And could she speak to you?' said Helen; 'did she know you?'

'Yes, she gave me one of her own smiles, and said something in a very
low voice.'

'Tell me a little more, Lizzie,' said Helen, 'for I have thought very
much about her lately. Can you remember her before she was ill?'

'Oh yes,' said Elizabeth, speaking slowly, and pausing now and then; 'I
remember her well; I sometimes fancy I can hear her voice and her step
at night, when she used to come up to the nursery to see us in bed. I
always used to listen for her; and when she began to grow weak, and
could not come up so many stairs, I used to lie and cry for half an
hour. And now, when I am reading the same books with the children that
I read with her, things that she said to me come back upon me.'

'Do you think,' said Helen, 'that you are as like her as Uncle Edward
once said you were?'

Elizabeth paused; 'possibly,' said she, 'in eyes, nose, and mouth; but,
Helen, I do not think there ever could be anyone really like our
mother; I was much too young to know all that she was whilst she was
alive, but as I have grown older, and compared what I have seen of
other people with what I recollect of her, I have grown certain that