s to be
near the edge of sorrowful expression. She would not have permitted it
to choose such expression, and indeed it easily took another line; for
even as she looked, her eye caught the light from Mr. Linden's and the
gravity of her face broke in a sunny and somewhat obstinate smile,
which Faith would have controlled if she could.

"That penance was not so very bad," she said, perhaps by way of
diversion.

"I enjoyed it," said Mr. Linden,--"I am not sure that everybody else
did. Are you longing for another piece of rest?--Look up at me, and let
me see if _I_ ought to keep you here any longer."

She obeyed, though shyly; the smile lingering round her lips yet, and
her whole face, to tell the truth, bearing much more resemblance to the
dawn of a May morning than to the middle of a December night. Mr.
Linden was in some danger of forgetting why he had asked to see it; but
when her eyes fell beneath his, then he remembered.

"I must let you go," he said,--"I suppose the sooner I do that, the
sooner I may hope to see you again. Will you sleep diligently, to that
end?"

"I don't know--" she said softly; rising at the same time to gather up
her wrappers which lay strewed about, around and under her. Her lips
had the first answer to that; only as he let her go Mr. Linden said,

"You must try."

And a little scarce-spoken "yes" promised it.

It was easier than she thought. When Faith had got to her room, when
she had as usual laid down her heart's burden--joyful or careful--in
her prayer, there came soon a great subsiding; and mind and body slept,
as sleep comes to an exhausted child; or as those sleep, at any age,
whose hearts bear no weight which God's hand can bear for them, and who
are contented to leave their dearest things to the same hand. There was
no "ravelled sleeve of care" ever in Faith's mind, for sleep to knit
up; but "tired nature's sweet restorer" she needed like the rest of the
human family; and on this occasion sleep did her work without let or
hindrance from the time ten minutes after Faith's head touched her
pillow till the sun was strong and bright on the morning of the 26th of
December. Yes, and pretty high up too; for the first thing that fell
upon her waking senses was eight clear strokes of the town clock.

Faith got up and dressed herself in a great hurry and in absolute
dismay; blushing to think where was her mother; and breakfast--and
everybody--all this while, and what everybody was thi