s driven beyond the strength of her composure by the
strangeness of this advent. "Carry! Carry!" she exclaimed over and
over again, not aloud,--and indeed her voice was never loud,--but
with bated wonder. The two sisters held each other by the hand, and
Carry's other hand still grasped her mother's arm. "Oh, mother, I am
so tired," said the girl. "Oh, mother, I think that I shall die."

"My child;--my poor child. What shall we do, Fan?"

"Bring her in, of course," said Fanny.

"But your father--"

"We couldn't turn her away from the very window, and she like that,
mother."

"Don't turn me away, Fanny. Dear Fanny, do not turn me away," said
Carry, striving to take her sister by the other hand.

"No, Carry, we will not," said Fanny, trying to settle her mind to
some plan of action. Any idea of keeping the thing long secret from
her father she knew that she could not entertain; but for this night
she resolved at last that shelter should be given to the discarded
daughter without the father's knowledge. But even in doing this there
would be difficulty. Carry must be brought in through the window, as
any disturbance at the front of the house would arouse the miller.
And then Mrs. Brattle must be made to go to her own room, or her
absence would create suspicion and confusion. Fanny, too, had
terrible doubts as to her mother's powers of going to her bed and
lying there without revealing to her husband that some cause of great
excitement had arisen. And then it might be that the miller would
come to his daughter's room, and insist that the outcast should be
made an outcast again, even in the middle of the night. He was a man
so stern, so obstinate, so unforgiving, so masterful, that Fanny,
though she would face any danger as regarded herself, knew that
terrible things might happen. It seemed to her that Carry was very
weak. If their father came to them in his wrath, might she not die in
her despair? Nevertheless it was necessary that something should be
done. "We must let her get in at the window, mother," she said. "It
won't do, nohow, to unbar the door."

"But what if he was to kill her outright! Oh, Carry; oh, my child. I
dunna know as she can get in along of her weakness." But Carry was
not so tired as that. She had been in and out of that window scores
of times; and now, when she heard that the permission was accorded
to her, she was not long before she was in her mother's arms. "My
own Carry, my own bairn;--my gi