was more plaintive than the words. The confidence of that
young girl was all the world to her; for, independent of everything
else, it was the one human link that bound her to the man she loved with
such passionate idolatry. Her kindness to his child was the silver cord
which even his strong will could not sunder, even if he should wish it.

Hepworth saw her anguish, and pitied it.

"Let her go," he said, stooping down and kissing his sister on the
forehead, which, with her neck and arms, was cold as marble. "She is
disappointed, vexed, and really indignant with us both; but a good
night's sleep will set her heart right again. I wish we had never
chanced to come here."

"Oh, Heavens! so do I."

"Rachael," said Hepworth, "what is it troubles you so?"

"What? Is it not enough that the child I have made a part of my own life
should quarrel with me and with you, because of me, for a stranger?"

"No; because her own generous nature assures us that the evil will die
of itself before morning. This is not enough to account for the fact
that you quiver as if with cold, and the very touch of your forehead
chills me."

"Do I?" questioned Rachael. "I did not know it. My cloak has fallen
off--that is all."

"Mamma Rachael!"

They both started, for leaning over the banisters was the sweet, tearful
face of Lady Clara.

"My own darling!" cried Rachael, lifting her arms.

Down the staircase sprang that generous young creature, her feet
scarcely touching the polished oak, her hair all unbound and rolling in
waves down her back. Struck with sweet compunctions, she had broken from
the hands of her maid, and left her with the blue ribbon fluttering in
her hand, while she ran back to make peace with the woman who was almost
dearer to her than a mother.

She fell upon her knees by Rachael, and shook the hair from her face,
which was glowing with sweet penitence.

"Kiss me, mamma Rachael, not on this saucy mouth of mine, but here upon
my forehead. I cannot sleep till you have kissed me good night."

Rachael laid one hand on that bright young head, but it was quivering
like a shot bird. She bent the face back a little, and pored over the
features with yearning scrutiny, as if she longed to engrave every line
on her heart.

Something in those black eyes disturbed the girl afresh. She reached up
her arms, and cried out:

"Don't be angry with me, mamma Rachael, but kiss me good night, and ask
God to make me a better girl."