ered. "I do not think that I love you, but I _know_
that I do, and that I always will; and some time, when you are older,
and come to feel that home-love and art cannot satisfy you, I will come
back and try to win a place in the new yearning."

"You needn't," said Olive, with discouraging honesty. "I shall never
love any one that way. I don't want to. All I want is mama and the
girls, and to study until I am satisfied with myself, or as near it as I
can be. But you mustn't let that keep you away; you will forget this,
indeed, you will, and must come and see us often, and then everything
will be delightful."

"No; I shall never come until I feel that I do not come in vain. Do not
doubt my love, Olive, because your own heart is so free from it. It is a
girlish heart, and when it reaches womanhood, I may not be the one to
satisfy it, but I will come and try."

CHAPTER XX.

A SAD STORY.

Ernestine was getting better, and how could she help it, with everything
heart could wish, perfect peace and quiet, and six devoted hearts and
pairs of hands, ready to obey her slightest command. She did not issue
many, for one of the changes that had come to her, was asking for
little, complaining of nothing, even her own suffering, but lying still,
patient, contented, unselfish and quiet. She seemed grateful and pleased
at the least little act of kindness, a thing she would have accepted
before as a matter-of-course, and complained at not receiving; and after
she grew stronger, and the girls resumed their gayeties, she never
seemed to regret for a moment, that she was removed from all such, and
must lie still, day after day; when before, it was intolerable to pass a
single day without something to pass away her gleeful spirits with
Canfield, with its promising circle of girls, budding into young
ladyhood, was beginning to put on quite a number of social airs, in the
way of little dances, nutting parties, one or two literary clubs, and a
card club; which acted upon the little place, like a fresh spring
breeze, blowing in upon a pile of peaceful autumn leaves. The Dering
girls were popular, and partook largely in all these innocent
festivities, bringing gay accounts of them to Ernestine, to which she
listened, with a quiet smile, but with never a wish to be in them.
Nothing seemed to interest her so much, as the new experience and
dignity that had fallen upon Beatrice; and for hours they would chat
together of the new plans, a