walked himself to the nearest telegraph office the next morning to learn thence if, at Kensington, any more was known before telling Dorothea.

The girl had happened to be at home during Captain Lawson's first and last short visit to Brayscombe Rectory. True, scarcely thirteen, but she was already both observant and warm-hearted, and had always remembered him with a kindliness quite ready to ripen into sisterly love as soon as he reappeared amongst them. And she had long admired Amy's calm gentle patience greatly; this elder sister's very stillness, and powers of steady quiet work,-no talk, no fuss, no ups and downs of feeling and spirits, as befell any little work to which Dorothea had ever put her hands or thoughts,—had impressed the impulsive unsystematic younger sister, and made her always regard Amy with a kind of reverent awe. She had noted the slight changes of last Christmas which told how now that the trial was nearly over, Amy's reserve force of endurance, even evenness of temper, were almost spent ; an occasional nervous twitching of her mouth or hands when he was named; an occasional effort not to raise her voice, nor lose her temper. Amabel might look back on such moments with shame and deep abasement; but Dorothea loved and admired her more for thus being proved a fellow-woman, no mere piece of almost mechanical perfection.

Dorothea took the tidings quietly, shivered a little, and shed a few quiet tears. "May I go to them? can't I go to them ?" she asked, raising her eyes to the tender grieved face above her.

"I think, dear, you are better here.-There is nothing you can do at present.—It will be wiser to stay on with us, and even carry on your usual work and occupations."

"Yes!" and she heaved a deep sigh.

Is there anything you would like to do to-day? perhaps you hardly can turn your thoughts to Greek and mathematics.-Will you like to go and spend the day with Mrs. Blackwood? or the Wollastons ?"

"No, no! this is home next to Kensington!-and it would be selfish to go and make Maggie miserable who does not even know him.-There is one thing I should like!" and she looked up suddenly. "Yes ?"

"To go to the five o'clock Burnt Ash service."

"Better than the cathedral ?"

"Yes, oh, yes! I don't care for the cathedral," she answered with some impatience, "I mean-oh, I beg your pardon, when you love it

so very dearly. But it isn't home to me. S. Mary's is!—and I long to go there again."

"Five o'clock is still almost dark, and six entirely.-It would, dear, throw out all our hours-" he answered, but trying to think her wish feasible.

"I-I don't so much care for the service! now there's only Mr. Morrison and Decimus there!" she half sobbed. "Let me walk over and back after dinner,—and spend an hour in the church,—I will be home by five. I could walk it in an hour and a quarter.—I can start directly after dinner."

“You will let me come with you ?"

66

Oh, mayn't I go alone! I want to be alone!-I want to think, to be quiet!"

"I would not ask you to say a word.”

"What are you afraid of? Why do you as well as George think it wicked for me to go alone to Burnt Ash Church ?" and she fixed her eyes on him.

"You are excited, dear child,” he answered gently, "and forget to whom you are speaking.-Let us go back to our usual work—that will be best for you.—But I will arrange for you to go to Burnt Ash and try to gratify both your own and my wishes about it as far as is possible. Where one must give way, it must be the younger, even now when I grieve for you, dear child; and my own heart is full of your poor sweet sister, and of all the suffering in Church Street."

"It shall be as you like, just as you like," whispered Dorothea penitently.

And so he drove her over, giving up his beloved cathedral service for once; and, parting from her at the church gate, drove up to Brayscombe to call on Mrs. Blackwood, promising to be at the gates again at four.

Dorothea pushed open that ever unlocked door, and entered softly; then having looked around and found herself alone, followed her wilful, self-engrossed impulse, and bolted the door fast against all other comers.

"I must be alone!" she cried, "alone! Oh, how I love this church!-Where father sat that last Sunday ;—and the chancel where we went round arm in arm. And that picture!—If only the screengates are open!" and she went up to them, but they were locked.

She was deeply disappointed, but not easily to be baffled. With difficulties, whether bodily or mental, her spirit always rose. She was

as full of resources as of self-will; and finding no side access open either went down the church, unbolted the great door, locking it again behind her, and went round to the vestry. She tried this door gently; was half frightened when it yielded to her touch, still more so when she beheld John Morrison within.

"Oh, I beg your pardon !" and she was beating a breathless retreat. It was quite true, she never had liked John Morrison.

"Come in !" He had already risen on hearing the latch lifted, and followed her quickly. "Miss Erle !-is it possible the porch door has been locked by some mistake ?-Our real verger is ill.-I will go down the church, and open it if you will kindly walk round to it again.Or," seeing this did not at all content her, "is there anything else that I can do for you?-We are so grieved for your poor sister,-do you know how she is ?”

"Dulcie's-no, Arthur's-telegram said Amy quite quiet'-"

"Poor soul! sweet saint of GOD, if modern saints exist! And I believe they do by thousands, as the unknown worshippers of the true GOD in Elijah's time!—But can I do anything for you ?"

"Yes: a great, great thing," and she fixed her eyes wistfully and full upon him.

His heart misgave him. Were this child coming to him for spiritual counsel he should not dare refuse it. But he felt that Canon Grant, -and of course he should, he must tell him,—would consider himself mistaken, and his young charge misled. It was a great relief when the girl added impulsively,

"Let me into the chancel! and go right away!—Oh, I want to be alone! quite alone! No one will understand-" and the great tears standing in her eyes began to roll slowly down her cheeks.

"My child, I do!" and he laid his hand with perfect comprehension on her shoulder; unlocked and opened the door leading into the chancel, let her pass by him with the few words, "You can always go away remember at the other door :" and then turned the key again behind her, and barred the great lower bolt. And she was, far more securely than he knew, free from all intrusion, of any outer eye.

She went straight up to the altar step, knelt down, closed her eyes, and for a few minutes wept convulsively. Then raised her eyes to the picture, "Sweetest Mother of GOD," she murmured reverently, entranced in its sad calm beauty; but she had learnt many, many things at the Canonry the past eight months, and her eyes did not rest con

tent there, as last April, but sought the crowning cross, the outward token of her SAVIOUR's presence. Then she clasped her hands, and said aloud, "I mean it!-If you will give back Will Lawson to poor Amy, I will never marry!-I will do my best to take her place! To do any work to which it pleases Thee to put me !-I hate dirty ungrateful people, and have in my heart laughed at her toiling and moiling amongst all those wretched creatures in London, who don't want to be improved any more than I do!-But,-oh, I know I have youth and strength, and powers of mind, and of influencing others, and too often only use them very badly!-but if you will give back Will Lawson to Amy, and take my life, and my heart in her place, I will do my best to help all those for whom Thou diedst.-I have always felt the day would come when I must offer myself a reasonable and living sacrifice to Thee,—and at this altar, no other,—some time in my life.—I had wanted-wanted to have a little playtime first," and she covered her eyes, and shed a few fresh tears over the forfeited earthly enjoyment of her youth, "I had meant to wait till one and twenty. But, I vow myself to Thee, now, for ever, if Thou wilt take me in her place."

She knelt on a long, long time; examining herself whether she repented her truly of her former sins; there was a long array of minor sins and follies; but one, only one covered her face with crimson. "I will confess it.-George will be ready to kill me ! I can't help it -Oh, it is well, it is merciful, that, after all, I'm obliged to give up my life to GOD's service, now at once! or I should have been a dreadful flirt like Gertie Winstanley, yet had no heart myself.-It was not love that made me give Decimus last night the flower he asked for, -I never yet have seen the young man I could love !-but because I love to play with people and feel the influence I can get over even George himself if I but choose to use my power, that dangerous power as dear Canon Grant told me only yesterday.—Well, I will never use it for my own selfish ends again, merely for amusement. He told me to treat it as a talent from GOD, recognise and polish it, and never use it ill.-How much wiser than George, who would have wished, if he could without an actual lie, have made me think I was a mere chit of a child, with no influence over anybody, nor ever likely to have."

At last she rose, but stood some few minutes regarding this, in part, copy of the Madonna di San Brizio.

"Surely it is not holiness, motherliness, only that makes you seem so like our own mother. Who painted you? I have never dared ask Mr. Macdonald, it is only he and Canon Grant to whom I daren't say what I like."

The clock struck four and she went forth, grieved that her hour was over, to find the punctual Canon waiting. In spite of the traces of her recent tears, he could see that her mind was much more composed than when they had parted: and her mouth had a smile, if with a tendency to some sadness and resolution in it as they drove home. Gustavus Grant was approaching the house from the other side of the close, sketchbook under his arm, and hurried his remaining steps so as to be in time to receive them, and help the young girl out.

"A new phase,-not a queen, but an empress," he thought, half admiring, half amused as she but touched his arm in alighting, and uttered a few grave gracious words of thanks as he took possession of her wraps.

But the touch sent a thrill through him; and he became convinced that the sooner he could complete his real work in the Canonry that winter, the better it would be for his own happiness. As to hers,"I'm not quite such a fool as to imagine she'll ever waste a thought on an old fellow twice her years; and whom doubtless in the fine scorn of youth she thinks old enough to be her father."

But his work compelled him to stay another fortnight; and, meanwhile, was growing day by day under his brush in his painting room a second portrait, also a whole series of heads, profile, full-face, three quarters, smiling, gracious, sad, and sombre; "must work out the mad possession and have done with it!" the conclusion to which he had come to reconcile it to his conscience to spend so much time upon this rival subject at all.

His real working hours were still devoted to the portrait of old Mrs. Grant, a most happy likeness of the dignified refined old gentleher lifework done.-This stood always on his easel, and was worked at with unlocked doors; but the others no eye had ever seen but himself, possibly never would.

woman;

"If she marry and die young, husband or children may thank me for them some day.—But as for ever coming to an end of phases of her beauty I despair.-Nay, it would lose half its charm were they not so enchantingly uncertain, and without period.—A great change, though, since she heard of poor Lawson's fate; though that's now two