d have
none of the contentions I have had to endure," said Helen.

"A sphere full of whirlpools and quicksands," replied the mother. "The
fancy you have taken to her might pass away. She might be taught the
bitterness of eating a dependant's bread, and the soft and luxurious
habits of her early days would unfit her for bearing so heavy a
burden; it would be in vain then to recall her to her humble home;
she would have lost all relish for it. It might please God to take
you after a few years, and my poor child would be returned to what she
would then consider poverty. Urge me no more, I entreat you."

Helen's face grew red and pale by turns. "You mock at and mar my
purposes," she said. "My husband was struck by the beauty of that
child, and I longed to see her; but I am doomed to disappointment. I
never tried to grasp a substance that it did not fade into a shadow!
What am I now?" Her eyes rested upon the reflection, given by the
glass, of the two cousins. "Look! that tells the story--worn in heart
and spirit, blighted and bitter. You, Rose--even you, my own flesh and
blood--will not yield to me--the only creature, perhaps, that could
love me! Oh! the void, the desert of life, without affection!--a
childless mother--made so by"--She burst into tears, and Rose was
deeply affected. She felt far more inclined to yield her child to the
desolate heart of Helen Marsh, than to the proud array of Lady ----;
but she also knew her duty.

"Will you grant me this favour," said Helen at last; "will you let the
child decide"--

"I would not yield to the child's decision, but you may, if you
please, prove her," answered her mother.

The little girl came softly into the room, having already learned that
a bounding step was not meet for "my lady's chamber."

"Rosa, listen; will you come with me to London, to ride in a fine
coach drawn by four horses--to wear a velvet frock--see beautiful
sights, and become a great lady. Will you, dear Rosa, and be my own
little girl?"

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the child, gleefully; "that I will; _that_ would
be so nice--a coach and four--a velvet frock--a great lady--oh! dear
me!" The mother felt her limbs tremble, her heart sink. "Oh! my own
dear mother, will not _that_ be nice? and the beautiful sights you
have told me of--St. Paul's and Westminster--oh! mother, we shall be
so happy!"

"Not _me_, Rosa," answered Mrs. Lynne, with as firm a voice as she
could command. "Now, listen to me: you might