he ever "get used with it," as
the woman had said, so that she could help them without thinking about
them, as she had many a time kept her hands busy with her household work
while her thoughts were faraway? It did not seem possible. No, surely
it would never come to that with her.

Oh! no, because there was help for all these poor sufferers--help which
she might bring them, by telling them how she herself had been helped,
in her time of need. And would not that be a good work for her to do,
let her life be ever so long and empty of all other happiness? It might
be that all the troubles through which she had passed were meant to
prepare her for such a work.

For the peace which had come to her was no vain imagination. It had
filled her heart and given her rest, even before the long, quiet time
which had come to her, when she was with the child beside the faraway
sea. And through her means, might not this peace be sent to some of
these suffering poor women who had to bear their troubles alone?

She stood still, looking straight before her, forgetful, for the moment,
of all but her own thoughts. Her hopes, she called them, for she could
not but hope that some such work as this might be given her to do.

"Allison Bain," said a faint voice from a bed near which she stood.
Allison came out of her dream with a start, to meet the gaze of a pair
of great, blue eyes, which she knew she had somewhere seen before, but
not in a face so wan and weary as the one which lay there upon the
pillow. She stooped down to catch the words which came more faintly
still from the lips of the speaker.

"I saw you--and I couldna keep mysel' from speaking. But ye needna
fear. I will never tell that it is you--or that I have seen you. Oh!
I thought I would never see a kenned face again."

The girl burst into sudden weeping, holding fast the hand which Allison
had given her.

"Is it Mary Brand?" whispered Allison, after a little.

"No, it is Annie. Mary is dead and--safe," and she turned her face away
and lay quiet for a while.

Allison made a movement to withdraw her hand.

"Wait a minute. I must speak to some one--before I die--and I may die
this night," she murmured, holding her with appealing eyes. "I'm
Annie," she said. "You'll mind how my mother died, and my father
married again--ower-soon maybe--and we were all angry, and there was no
peace in the house. So the elder ones scattered,--one went here and
another there.