e
room looked north, and, besides, she thought a fire was cheerful and
home-like.

"You are very kind," said Erica, warmly; "but you know I mustn't let you
spoil me, or I shall not be fit to go back to the home life, and I want
to go home much more fit for it."

Something in the spontaneous warmth and confidence of this speech
cheered Mrs. Fane-Smith. She wished above all things to win her niece's
love and confidence, and she wisely reserved her proposal as to the
matter of a home for another time. It was necessary, however, that
she should give Erica a hint as to the topics likely to irritate Mr.
Fane-Smith.

"I think, dear," she began, "it would be as well if, when my husband and
Rose are present, you are careful not to speak of your father. You won't
mind my saying this; but I know it displeases my husband, and I think
you will understand that there are objections, society, you know, and
public opinion; we must consult it a little."

Mrs. Fane-Smith grew nervous and incoherent, threw her arms round her
niece's neck, kissed her most affectionately, and wished her good night.

When she left the room, Erica's repressed indignation blazed up. We fear
it must be recorded that she fairly stamped with anger.

Wounded in her tenderest part, indignant at the insult to her father,
ashamed of her own want of control, miserably perplexed by her new
surroundings, it was long before she could compose herself. She paced
up and down the richly furnished room, struggling hard to conquer her
anger. At length, by a happy impulse, she caught up her prayer book,
checked her longing to walk rapidly to and fro, sat down on the Indian
rug before the fire, and read the evening psalm. It happened to be the
thirty-seventh. Nothing could have calmed her so effectually as its
tender exhortation, its wonderful sympathy with human nature. "Fret not
thyself, else shalt thou be moved to do evil. Put thou thy trust in the
Lord, and be doing good. Put thy trust in Him, and He will bring it to
pass."

She closed the book, and sat musing, her anger quite passed away.

All at once she recollected old Elspeth, the nurse. Her father had
charged her with many messages to the faithful old servant, and so had
her aunt. She felt ashamed to think that she had been several hours in
the house without delivering them. Rose's room was close to hers. She
went out, and knocked softly at the door.

"I just came to see whether Elspeth was here," she said, ra