ay,
Go! thou art naught to us, nor we to thee; away!"

Mr. Brooke met the young travellers at the station, anxious about his
youngest daughter, whose improved appearance he was much pleased to
note; and Stella met them at the door with every demonstration of
delight. "It has been so dull here without you!" she exclaimed; "the
house seems so quiet, after all the fun we have been having at the
seaside. I've been teasing papa to let me go for you, and I would have
gone if you hadn't come soon!"

She was looking prettier than ever, Lucy thought; so blooming, and
gay, and graceful, after her seaside sojourn. Her cousin could not
wonder that she won her way to most people's hearts, and was forced to
admit the contrast between her and her fragile little sister, whose
faint bloom even now did not remove the appearance of ill-health. But
there was on her pale face a spiritual beauty, a repose and peace,
which Stella, in all the loveliness of a pure rose-tinted complexion,
lustrous eyes, and gleaming golden hair, did not possess. It was the
reflection, outwardly, of the "peace of God which passeth
understanding."

Stella talked all the evening without ceasing, and at night
accompanied Lucy to her room, there to go on talking still, enlarging,
in a lively, amusing strain, on the adventures of their seaside life;
the "fun," the "splendid bathing," the people who were there, their
dress, manners, and conversation; all the flirtations she had
observed, with the quick eye of a girl who as yet has no personal
interest in such matters. When at last Stella paused in her own
narration to ask questions about Oakvale, Lucy gladly took advantage
of the break to insist on postponing all further conversation until
the morrow, especially as, she urged, they were keeping Amy from the
sleep she needed so much after her long journey, and accustomed as she
had lately been to early hours. Lucy indeed felt determined that the
same thing must not happen again on any account, as the consequences
to Amy of having her mind and nervous system excited so late at night,
when she was always too much disposed to wakefulness, might be
exceedingly injurious.

"Oh, how I wish Stella were more like dear Mary!" thought Lucy, as she
laid her head on her pillow, and compared Mary's kind thoughtfulness
with Stella's impulsive, flighty giddiness. As to externals, Stella
had very much the advantage, for Mary Eastwood could not be called
pretty, and was rath