city, and yet with dramatic power, the story which we
already know.

By degrees the voices of people in other parts of the room ceased, and
Joyce found herself the centre of interest as she told her story.

"Who is she?" Sir Thomas Acland asked, as Joyce finished her story, and
answered a summons from Miss Frowde at the further end of the room.

Failing a little in the good manners, on which Miss Falconer put so high
a value, Charlotte answered a question _not_ addressed to her.

"She is my cousin, sir--Joyce Falconer. She has led a very retired life
at Fair Acres."

"There are many flowers that bloom unseen, and she is one of the fairest
I ever saw. If a retired life produces such good effect, it strikes me,
Mrs. More, we had all better go into retirement. But--"

He stopped, for Joyce, with a white face from which every vestige of
colour had vanished, came back to her position by Mrs. More's chair. Her
hands were clasped tightly together, her whole attitude one of
repressed emotion.

"If you please, Mrs. More, I must beg you to excuse me. I am sent for to
go home, for my father--Oh! my father!--is dying."

Miss Frowde was close behind Joyce.

"You must not agitate dear Mrs. More," she said. "I will take care of
Miss Falconer," she added. "The gig is waiting."

"Do you know any particulars?"

Miss Frowde shook her head, and was leading Joyce away, when she
suddenly turned back.

"Dear madam, dear Mrs. More, please pray for me;" and, unable to resist
the impulse, she threw her arms round the old lady's neck.

"Miss Falconer, indeed you must restrain your emotion; you will agitate
dear Mrs. More."

But Hannah More held the trembling form of the poor stricken child
close.

"My dear," she whispered, "many are the sorrows through which I have
passed, and He whom I trust has never forsaken me. Trust in Him, and to
His loving kindness I commend you."

Joyce raised herself from the old lady's arms, and the Bishop, deeply
moved, laid his hand upon her head.

"The Lord bless you and keep you, my child, now and evermore."

Joyce did not weep or make any outward sign of great distress. She left
all tears and cries to Charlotte, who, sincerely grieved, took care that
every one should know it.

"Shall I come? Shall I come with you? Oh, Joyce--my darling Joyce! Oh
dear! Oh dear!"

"No, Charlotte; don't come; don't come. Help me to fasten my cloak. I--I
can't find the clasp."

Miss Frowde thrust Charlotte a