est of it must come for his sake."

"And will make you much more really useful and effective than ever you
could have been alone," said Ermine.

"He does talk of doing things together, but, oh! I feel as if I could
never dare put out my hand again!"

"Not alone perhaps."

"I like to hear him tell me about the soldiers' children, and what he
wants to have done for them."

"You and I little thought what Lady Temple was to bring us," said
Ermine, cheerfully, "but you see we are not the strongest creatures in
the world, so we must resign ourselves to our fate, and make the best of
it. They must judge how many imperfections they choose to endure, and we
can only make the said drawbacks as little troublesome as may be. Now, I
think I see Miss Curtis watching in fear that I am over-talking you."

"Oh, must you go? You have really comforted me! I wanted an external
opinion very much, and I do trust yours! Only tell me," she added,
holding Ermine's hand, "is this indeed so with you?"

"Not yet," said Ermine, softly, "do not speak about it, but I think you
will be comforted to hear that this matter of yours, by leading to the
matron's confession, may have removed an obstacle that was far more
serious in my eyes than even my own helplessness, willing as Colin was
to cast both aside. Oh, Rachel, there is a great deal to be thankful
for."

Rachel lay down on her sofa, and fell asleep, nor did Alick find any
occasion for blaming Grace when he returned the next day. The effect
of the conversation had been to bring Rachel to a meek submission, very
touching in its passiveness and weary peacefulness. She was growing
stronger, walked out leaning on Alick's arm, and was even taken out by
him in a boat, a wonderful innovation, for a dangerous accident to Mr.
Curtis had given the mother such a horror of the sea that no boating
excursions had ever taken place during her solitary reign, and the
present were only achieved by a wonderful stretch of dear Alexander's
influence. Perhaps she trusted him the more, because his maimed hand
prevented him from being himself an oarsman, though he had once been
devoted to rowing. At any rate, with an old fisherman at the oar, many
hours were spent upon the waters of the bay, in a tranquillity that was
balm to the harassed spirit, with very little talking, now and then some
reading aloud, but often nothing but a dreamy repose. The novelty and
absence of old association was one secret of the benefi