much absorbed in her
own troubles to realise to herself the feelings which she wounded. Her
uncle Geoffrey had succeeded in awakening her consideration for her
mother; but with her and Fred it began and ended, and when outside the
sick room, she seemed not to have a thought beyond a speedy return
to it. She seldom or never left it, except at meal-times, or when her
grandfather insisted on her taking a walk with him, as he did almost
daily. Then he walked between her and Beatrice, trying in vain to arouse
her to talk, and she, replying as shortly as possible when obliged to
speak, left her cousin to sustain the conversation.

The two girls went to church with grandpapa on the feast of the
Epiphany, and strange it was to them to see again the wreaths which
their own hands had woven, looking as bright and festal as ever, the
glistening leaves unfaded, and the coral berries fresh and gay. A tear
began to gather in Beatrice's eye, and Henrietta hung her head, as if
she could not bear the sight of those branches, so lately gathered by
her brother. As they were leaving the church, both looked towards the
altar at the wreath which Henrietta had once started to see, bearing a
deeper and more awful meaning than she had designed. Their eyes met, and
they saw that they had the same thought in their minds.

When they were taking off their bonnets in their own room, Queen Bee
stretched out a detaining hand, not in her usual commanding manner, but
with a gesture that was almost timid, saying,

"Look, Henrietta, one moment, and tell me if you were not thinking of
this."

And hastily opening the Lyra Innocentium, she pointed out the verse--

"Such garland grave and fair, His church to-day adorns, And--mark it
well--e'en there He wears His Crown of Thorns.

"Should aught profane draw near, Full many a guardian spear Is set
around, of power to go Deep in the reckless hand, and stay the grasping
foe."

"They go very deep," sighed Henrietta, raising her eyes, with a mournful
complaining glance.

Beatrice would have said more, but when she recollected her own conduct
on Christmas Eve, it might well strike her that she was the "thing
profane" that had then dared to draw near; and it pained her that she
had even appeared for one moment to accuse her cousin. She was beginning
to speak, but Henrietta cut her short by saying, "Yes, yes, but I can't
stay," and was flying along the passage the next moment.

Beatrice sighed heavily,