e
disappearance of her charges; and as Miss Turner believed that _she_
also was in fault, far more than Perry, they mourned and lamented in
company.

For during those days of sad suspense Aunt Catharine appeared an altered
woman. No longer stern and stately, self-satisfied and self-sufficient,
she and her sister seemed to have changed places. She it was who clung
to Miss Alice for sympathy and support in the sore trouble that had
befallen them. Miss Alice it was who kept brave and cheery--hoping
against hope that things were not actually so black as they looked; but
Miss Turner could not be coaxed to take any comfort to herself.

"It's very easy for _you_ to keep hopeful and calm," she would say to
her sister. "_You_ have nothing to reproach yourself with. You were
always soft and sweet and loving with them, whereas I--I was afraid to
let them see how closely they had wound themselves about my heart for
fear they should become petted and spoiled: so they thought me stern and
harsh, when I only meant to be firm and judicious; they believed me hard
and unsympathetic, when I was trying to teach them self-command and
obedience. Oh, why did I not win their hearts by tenderness, and gain
their allegiance by kindness, rather than seek to mould them after my
pattern by laying down laws and holding constantly before their eyes the
fear of punishment!"

"Don't grieve so, dear sister. You never were either unkind or harsh to
Darby and Joan. I'm sure no one could ever imagine any such thing,"
answered Miss Alice soothingly. "Every one knows, and Guy knew too,
before he went away, how dearly you loved the children."

"Yes, yes," said Miss Turner impatiently; "of course people would take
it for granted that I loved my nephew's little ones--and who could help
it?--but what I am angry with myself for is that I did not let them see
it. What good is love if one only shuts it up in one's heart to be
looked at in private? It must be seen and felt if it is to be of any
value, or to make any impression on its object. Ah! I was blind before,
but now I see things more plainly. Those two--Darby especially--have
gone away, wherever they are, with the idea that Aunt Catharine was in a
sense their enemy, who grudged them every bit of happiness they wanted
to have, while all the time I would willingly have given my life for
either of them. Oh, if they were only back, how different I would be!"
sobbed poor Aunt Catharine, leaning her aching head