t of a night is it" said Anne, at length.

"Very dreary and rainy, and the wind is high."

"No matter, it will not reach them. The _Ardente_ will be safe in
Southampton-water by this time."

Agatha recurred to the perpetual letter; "Yes, so my husband tells me
here."

"And therefore," Miss Valery continued, laying her hand over the paper,
"his good little wife shall fold up this, and not weary herself any more
with anxiety about him. Those who love ought above all others to trust
in the love of God."

After this they sat patient and content--nay, oftentimes quite merry,
for Agatha strove hard to amuse her companion. And the wind sang its
song without--not threateningly, but rather in mirth; and the fire
burnt brightly, within. And no one thought of them but as friends and
servants--the terrible Wind, the devouring Fire.

It was growing late, and Agatha began to use the petty tyranny with
which Miss Valery had invested her, insisting on her friend's going to
bed.

"I will presently; only give me time--a little time. I am not so young
as you, my child, and have not so many hours to waste in sleeping. There
now, I'll be good. Wait--you see I am already pulling down my hair."

She did so, rather feebly. It fell on her shoulders longer and thicker
than any one would have believed--it was really beautiful, except for
those broad white streaks.

"What soft fine hair," cried Agatha, admiringly. "Ah, you shall go
without caps in the spring--I declare you shall."

"Not at my age."

"That cannot be so very ancient. I shouldn't mind asking you the direct
question, for I am sure you are not one of those foolish women who are
ashamed to tell their age, as if any number of years matters while we
keep a young warm heart."

"I am thirty-nine or forty, I forget which," said Anne, as she drew
her fingers through the long locks, gazing down on them with some
pensiveness. "I myself never liked hair of this colour, neither brown
nor black; but mine was always soft and smooth, and some people used to
think it _pretty_ once."

"It is pretty now. You will always be beautiful, dear, dear Anne! I
will call you Anne, for you are scarcely older than I, except in a few
contemptible years not worth mentioning," continued the girl, sturdily.
"And I will have you as happy, too, as I."

Anne sat silent a minute or two, the hair dropping over her face. Then
she raised it and looked into the fire with a calm sweet look that
Agatha thoug