rds had barely fallen from her lips, before Herbert returned. He
was followed by Sydney Westerfield.

The governess stopped in the middle of the room. Her head sank on her
breast; her quick convulsive breathing was the only sound that broke the
silence. Mrs. Linley advanced to the place in which Sydney stood. There
was something divine in her beauty as she looked at the shrinking girl,
and held out her hand.

Sydney fell on her knees. In silence she lifted that generous hand to
her lips. In silence, Mrs. Linley raised her--took the writing which
testified to her character from the table--and presented it. Linley
looked at his wife, looked at the governess. He waited--and still
neither the one nor the other uttered a word. It was more than he could
endure. He addressed himself to Sydney first.

"Try to thank Mrs. Linley," he said.

She answered faintly: "I can't speak!"

He appealed to his wife next. "Say a last kind word to her," he pleaded.

She made an effort, a vain effort to obey him. A gesture of despair
answered for her as Sydney had answered: "I can't speak!"

True, nobly true, to the Christian virtue that repents, to the Christian
virtue that forgives, those three persons stood together on the brink of
separation, and forced their frail humanity to suffer and submit.

In mercy to the woman, Linley summoned the courage to part them. He
turned to his wife first.

"I may say, Catherine, that she has your good wishes for happier days to
come?"

Mrs. Linley pressed his hand.

He approached Sydney, and gave his wife's message. It was in his heart
to add something equally kind on his own part. He could only say what we
have all said--how sincerely, how sorrowfully, we all know--the common
word, "Good-by!"--the common wish, "God bless you!"

At that last moment the child ran into the room, in search of her
mother.

There was a low murmur of horror at the sight of her. That innocent
heart, they had all hoped, might have been spared the misery of the
parting scene!

She saw that Sydney had her hat and cloak on. "You're dressed to go
out," she said. Sydney turned away to hide her face. It was too late;
Kitty had seen the tears. "Oh, my darling, you're not going away!" She
looked at her father and mother. "Is she going away?" They were afraid
to answer her. With all her little strength, she clasped her beloved
friend and play-fellow round the waist. "My own dear, you're not going
to leave me!" The dumb mis