d her arms fondly about the neck of the old lady, and kissed her
tenderly.

"Ah, my dearest Mrs. Harvey," said she, "how can I ever repay you for
all your loving care of me! Do not think that I did not see all and
feel all that you did for me. But I was so sad."

"But, my poor child," said the rector, after a long conversation, in
which they had exhausted all the possibilities of Hilda's
"situation," "this is a long journey. Who is this Mr. Gualtier? Do
you know him? Would it not be better for me to go with you?"

"Oh, my kind friend, how good you are!" said Zillah, again
overwhelmed with gratitude. "But there is no necessity. I have known
Mr. Gualtier for years. He was my music-teacher for a long time
before my dear father left me. He is very good and very faithful."

So no more was said on that matter.

Before Gualtier came Zillah had arranged every thing for her journey.
She decided to leave the house just as it was, under the care of the
housekeeper, with the expectation of returning at no very distant
date. The rector promised to exercise a general supervision over her
affairs. She left with him money enough to pay the year's rent in
advance, which he was to transmit to the owner. Such arrangements as
these gave great comfort to these kindly souls, for in them they saw
signs that Zillah would return; and they both hoped that the
"sisters" would soon tire even of Italy, and in a fit of homesickness
come back again. With this hope they bade her adieu.

On leaving Tenby, Zillah felt nothing but delight. As the coach drove
her to the station, as the railway train hurried her to London, as
the tidal train took her to Southampton, as the packet bore her
across the Channel, every moment of the time was filled with joyous
anticipations of her meeting Hilda. All her griefs over other losses
and other calamities had in one instant faded away at the news that
Hilda was safe. That one thing was enough to compensate for all else.

Arriving at Paris, she was compelled to wait for one day on account
of some want of connection in the trains for Marseilles. Gualtier
acted as cicerone, and accompanied her in a carriage through the
chief streets, through the Place de la Concorde, the Champs Elysees,
and the Bois de Boulogne. She was sufficiently herself to experience
delight in spite of her impatience, and to feel the wonder and
admiration which the first sight of that gay and splendid capital
always excites. But she was not