they clung to it for comfort and
protection. Others had chosen to lie beneath the changing shade of
trees; others by the path, that footsteps might come near them; others,
among the graves of little children. Some had desired to rest beneath
the very ground they had trodden in their daily walks; some, where the
setting sun might shine upon their beds; some, where its light would
fall upon them when it rose. Perhaps not one of the imprisoned souls
had been able quite to separate itself in living thought from its old
companion. If any had, it had still felt for it a love like that which
captives have been known to bear towards the cell in which they have
been long confined, and, even at parting, hung upon its narrow bounds
affectionately.

It was long before the child closed the window, and approached her bed.
Again something of the same sensation as before--an involuntary
chill--a momentary feeling akin to fear--but vanishing directly, and
leaving no alarm behind. Again, too, dreams of the little scholar; of
the roof opening, and a column of bright faces, rising far away into
the sky, as she had seen in some old scriptural picture once, and
looking down on her, asleep. It was a sweet and happy dream. The
quiet spot, outside, seemed to remain the same, saving that there was
music in the air, and a sound of angels' wings. After a time the
sisters came there, hand in hand, and stood among the graves. And then
the dream grew dim, and faded.

With the brightness and joy of morning, came the renewal of yesterday's
labours, the revival of its pleasant thoughts, the restoration of its
energies, cheerfulness, and hope. They worked gaily in ordering and
arranging their houses until noon, and then went to visit the clergyman.

He was a simple-hearted old gentleman, of a shrinking, subdued spirit,
accustomed to retirement, and very little acquainted with the world,
which he had left many years before to come and settle in that place.
His wife had died in the house in which he still lived, and he had long
since lost sight of any earthly cares or hopes beyond it.

He received them very kindly, and at once showed an interest in Nell;
asking her name, and age, her birthplace, the circumstances which had
led her there, and so forth. The schoolmaster had already told her
story. They had no other friends or home to leave, he said, and had
come to share his fortunes. He loved the child as though she were his
own.

'Well,