ht perfectly divine.

"I have been happy," she said. "That is I have not been unhappy--God
knows I have not. I have had a great deal to do always, and in all my
labour was there profit. It comforted me, and helped to comfort others;
it made me feel that my life was not wholly thrown away, as many an
unmarried woman's is, but as no one's ever need be."

"But some are. Think of Jane Ianson, of whom Emma wrote me word
yesterday. If ever any woman spent a mournful, useless life, and died of
a broken heart, it was poor Jane Ianson."

"Her story was pitiful, but she somewhat erred," Anne answered,
thoughtfully. "No human being _ought_ to die of a 'broken heart' (as the
phrase is) while God is in His heaven, and has work to be done upon His
earth. There are but two things that can really throw a lasting shadow
over woman's existence--an unworthy love, and a lost love. The first
ought to be rooted out at all risks; for the other--let it stay! There
are more things in life than mere marrying and being happy. And for
love--a high, pure, holy love, held ever faithful to one object,"--and
as she spoke, Anne's whole face lightened and grew young--"no fortune or
misfortune--no time or distance--no power either in earth or heaven can
alter _that_."

There was a pause, during which the two women sat silent and grave. And
the wind howled round the house, and the fire crackled harmlessly in the
chimney, but they noticed neither--the fierce Wind--the awful Fire.

"It is a wild night," said Agatha at last. "But they are landed at
Southampton long ago. Last night was lovely--such a moon! and they were
sure to sail, because the _Ardente_ only plies once a week, and there
is no other boat this winter-time. Oh, yes! they are quite safe in
Southampton. I shouldn't wonder if they were both here to breakfast
to-morrow."

And Agatha, with her little heart beating quick, merrily, and fast,
never thought to look at her companion. Anne's eyes were dilated, her
lips quivering--all her serenity was gone.

"To-morrow--to-morrow," she murmured, and as with a sudden pain, put
her hand to her chest, breathing hard and rapidly. "Agatha, hold me
fast--don't let me go--just for a little while.--I _cannot_ go!"

She clung to the young girl with a pallid, frightened aspect, like one
who looks down into a place of darkness, and shudders on its verge.
Never before had that expression been seen in Anne Valery. Slowly it
passed away, leaving the calmness t