ome time afterwards Mrs. Blake entered, and Miss Latimer rose to
depart; but Winnie would not let her go just yet. She had so many
questions to ask, and there was so much she wished to know. How were
Miss Deborah, Aunt Margaret, and Nellie? When would they all return to
town? Had Aunt Judith written a new book lately? and if so, what was
it called? Miss Latimer had a busy time answering all those queries,
but at last the young invalid was satisfied; and promising to come
again soon, Aunt Judith said good-bye, and left the room with a heavy
heart.

Mrs. Blake following, thanked her for her visit, and hoped she would
repeat it at an early date. The young step-mother saw the error she
had made in the past, and with graceful tact tried to atone for her
open rudeness to this grave, noble woman, who seemed like a queen in
spite of the simplicity of her garments.

Miss Latimer's sweet, true nature harboured no feeling of umbrage or
malice, and her smile was frank and friendly as she willingly accepted
the invitation. Then Edith, appearing at that moment, offered to
accompany her part of the way home, and Mrs. Blake returned to the
sick-room and Winnie.

The child's face looked flushed and animated. "Mamma dear," she said
sweetly, "thank you for allowing me to see Aunt Judith again. I shall
not be so cross and troublesome now. She has been telling me what a
beautiful life I may yet lead in spite of my pain and helplessness, and
her words have hushed the bad thoughts to rest."

The fair, frivolous lady seemed bewildered, but replied, "I am willing
to confess my error, Winnie: Miss Latimer is no longer an unwelcome
visitor here," then she changed the subject.

Meanwhile the days passed on, and Miss Latimer became a frequent guest
at Maple Bank, winning all due respect and honour by the true dignity
of her nature and sweet womanly heart. Edith hailed those visits with
pleasure; and Winnie--ah! they were like great spots of sunshine to the
sick girl fretting sorely under her load of pain.

She was by no means a patient invalid this restless child, and the
constant lying day after day and the monotony of sick-room life tried
her exceedingly. It was only natural that such should be the case;
that the wild tomboy nature, with its bright flow of animal spirits,
should chafe and rebel at this heavy discipline. But one becomes
wearied of constant murmuring, and sometimes those around her waxed
impatient. Then it was