rl, my darling." And the poor mother
satisfied the longings of her heart with infinite caresses.

Fanny in the meantime had crept out to the kitchen, and now returned
with food in a plate and cold tea. "My girl," she said, "you must eat
a bit, and then we will have you to bed. When the morn comes, we must
think about it."

"Fanny, you was always the best that there ever was," said Carry,
speaking from her mother's bosom.

"And now, mother," continued Fanny, "you must creep off. Indeed you
must, or of course father'll wake up. And mother, don't say a word
to-morrow when he rises. I'll go to him in the mill myself. That'll
be best." Then, with longings that could hardly be repressed, with
warm, thick, clinging kisses, with a hot, rapid, repeated assurance
that everything,--everything had been forgiven, that her own Carry
was once more her own, own Carry, the poor mother allowed herself
to be banished. There seemed to her to be such a world of cruelty
in the fact that Fanny might remain for the whole of that night
with the dear one who had returned to them, while she must be sent
away,--perhaps not to see her again if the storm in the morning
should rise too loudly! Fanny, with great craft, accompanied her
mother to her room, so that if the old man should speak she might
be there to answer;--but the miller slept soundly after his day of
labour, and never stirred.

"What will he do to me, Fan?" the wanderer asked as soon as her
sister returned.

"Don't think of it now, my pet," said Fanny, softened almost as her
mother was softened by the sight of her sister.

"Will he kill me, Fan?"

"No, dear; he will not lay a hand upon you. It is his words that are
so rough! Carry, Carry, will you be good?"

"I will, dear; indeed I will. I have not been bad since Mr. Fenwick
came."

"My sister,--if you will be good, I will never leave you. My heart's
darling, my beauty, my pretty one! Carry, you shall be the same to
me as always, if you'll be good. I'll never cast it up again you, if
you'll be good." Then she, too, filled herself full, and satisfied
the hungry craving of her love with the warmth of her caresses. "But
thee'll be famished, lass. I'll see thee eat a bit, and then I'll put
thee comfortable to bed."

Poor Carry Brattle was famished, and ate the bread and bacon which
were set before her, and drank the cold tea, with an appetite which
was perhaps unbecoming the romance of her position. Her sister stood
over her,