"Don't grieve for that, but rejoice that we owe no one a single dollar. Besides, the Aspinwalls have a magnificent grand, and of course I shall use it frequently. But I'm thinking I shall long to change its sweetest note for a sound of your voice, even in chiding."

And the hands clung together more closely yet, and a few weak womanish tears were shed. It was Mrs. Lermost who roused herself, to say, bravely:

"Now tell me what you are going to do with me. I see the necessity indeed of my using every exertion to get well and strong as soon as possible. I must take my share of the burden soon, dear child."

"I wrote to Aunt Nancy, and she has answered me, very kindly, I am sure she meant it to be. She must show her queer kinky ways, as father used to call them. She will take you and Ned with her, and nurse you faithfully. That beautiful mountain air is just what you need, the doctor says, and we ought to be thankful that such an opportunity is open to you. And she will only take half of my wages; that is magnanimous, now, isn't it? for she is none too well-to-do, and she is fond of gain too. And you will get well there. O, I am ungrateful to dread anything, after knowing that."

"It will be a sore trial to your proud spirit, my Winnie," said the mother, slowly and sorrowfully. "It will be a new position for Matthew Lermont's daughter to take. I think I could be more content if you went away among strangers."

"Ah, but then I could obtain no situation. It is a healthy discipline for a proud spirit, after all," returned Winnie, gravely. "Besides, I am not really lowered. Nay, I am nobler, better than that thoughtless merry creature who was too happy in her own pleasures to stop to heed other people's needs; who used to be courted as Matthew Lermont's heiress. Dear mother, perhaps we shall yet look upon this discipline as the richest blessing of our lives. We shall learn who are fortune's friends, and who are our own."

"Harry Warner is one of the last, I am sure," said Mrs. Lermont, confidently, longing to give some ray of comfort.

"He would have been, I am sure," answered Winnie, flushing brightly again.

But, mamma, I have repulsed his attentions. I have refused to read his letters.

I overheard his father commanding him to leave me alone, threatening him with his displeasure and punishment if he followed after one he scornfully termed a beggar and pauper, whose only refuge would be the charity asylum. And after that I would not permit Harry's visits. Was I right, mother?"

"I begin to think you cannot do otherwise than right, Winnifred. What a heroine you have proved yourself! How proud your father would be-would be-nay, is now, my child, if he can see what transpires in the world he has left behind."

Winnie's eyes shone brightly, and a tender glow brightened her pale face.

"I do not mean to be unworthy of my father's name, though I am stripped of the paltry fortune he meant to give to me. How contemptible it is to value people for such evanescent trappings, that a dozen accidents may tear away, as that disastrous shipwreck and my father's loss tore away from us what made us acceptable in Squire Warner's eyes. I am nobler, and more worthy of Harry than I could have been before the trial came. There is comfort in the thought, mother. I don't mean to be miserable, if only you will be cheerful, and grow strong and well."

"If I did not I should be a craven indeed; after the example you set me," returned Mrs. Lermont, kissing her fondly. "I will go at once to Nancy, and make it my chief business to get strong and well, that I may be able to come back, and make a humble home for you. Yes, my child, we will be happy, and honorable, and good, in spite of poverty."

"Now I have heart for anything!" cried Winnie, triumphantly. "I was so afraid that you would be crushed and wretched. Hark! some one is knocking; I must go to the door."

She returned in another moment, with a letter in her hand.

"A letter for you mother, and in a strange hand, with an unfamiliar postmark. What can it mean?"

Mrs. Lermont opened it hastily, and glanced along its few delicately written lines.

of the time, in princely style. So she has come home to die. And she has lost her two noble sons by one dread stroke. Poor lady! poor lady! Read the letter, Winnie. She asks for a visit from my little girl, of whose birth she remembers hearing. Winnie, Winnie, perhaps it means something wonderful again!"

Winnie smiled at the earnestness with which her mother spoke, and taking the letter, perused it carefully.

"I will certainly obey the summons," -he said, slowly; "the moment I have seen you safely into Aunt Nancy's clean sweet chamber, I will make the visit she desires. But I would not build any hopes, little mother. There is a coldness visible here, and don't you see she says there are other relatives invited at the same time? It is dangerous cherishing wild visions, dearie. But for my father's sake, I will obey his cousin's summons, and try to show her a daughter, in her poor measure, worthy of bearing that father's name."

"We had better lose no time then," observed Mrs. Lermont. "I am keenly auxious that you should make this visit. Send me away as soon as you can."

"Yes, mother, for more reasons than one. We can go now, and have the money to defray travelling expenses, which I cannot promise if there is a fortnight longer here. Let me show you what I have planned to sell off, what we can spare with the least pang, the newest things, that have no tender remembrance of my father clinging to them."

And the next hour they spent with pencil and paper, reckoning up their meagre funds and humble expenses. After which Winnie brought the invalid's toast and tea, and then put her peremptorily to bed to rest. She gave Ned his supper, and set him to work upon a picture puzzle for entertainment. Then slipped away out of the house, into the yard, and presently she turned with slow lingering steps into the street, and down a by-path to the brook, which purled merrily along, threading its way in and out the huge clump of stunted willows.

"Winnie!"

air of calm dignity and pride as she turned toward the manly figure waiting there.

"O Winnie, don't look so angry! Though indeed I can't blame you, knowing you heard all that hateful talk. But, Winnie darling, oughtn't you to remember that it is my father, and not me ?"

"I am not angry with you, Harry. I know it is your father. But that parts us all the same. You should not have come here," she answered, softly.

"But I wont be parted from you, Winnie!" retorted the youth, vehemently. "I love you, Winnie, and I shall never love one else."

"Hush, Harry, or I shall go away at once. You have no right to talk to me in that way now-for your father's sake-"

"Hang my father! He has great consideration for me, hasn't he? He knows it will ruin my life to lose you!" cried he, in a fierce voice.

"For my sake, then. For I am too proud to listen to vows that are forbidden!" continued Winnie, steadily. "I am glad to have this last opportunity to speak with you. I would rather tell you myself that-that-we are to give up our home, and I am going to be the governess at the Aspinwalls, over at the Oaks."

"A governess! O Winnie, how terrible!" "I don't see it in any such frightful aspect, sir," retorted she, proudly, her graceful head cresting itself haughtily. "The simple circumstance of teaching those. pretty children to read, and write, and play, does not degrade my character, or soil my reputation, or injure my goodness. I am not going to be sentimental or mock heroic, if I can help it. I am simply facing the situation that is thrust upon me, manfully, I was going to say, but that would not be called becoming to a woman. Never mind. I think the spirit we praise as manliness is full often seen in heroic women, and not amiss, either. We are poor, and my mother and Ned just now are helpless. I stand between them and charity, as much. as between them and want, and am not. ashamed to do it."

"You, so young, and tender, and lovely!" cried the young man, hotly. "O, it's wicked, shameful, Winnie! Ten thousand fathers shall not hold me back from rushing to your relief. I am strong. What better am I good for than to work for you and yours? Winnie darling, let me take

II. MRS. ARNOLD ATHERTON had come, all at once, to be the focus of many ardent hopes and undivulged misgivings. Hitherto the lady had moved on gracefully in her high orbit, without coming in contact with any of those who now floated around her, an anxious group of satellites. An occasional present, sent across the water, revealed the grand relative's knowledge of their existence; but concerning her, or her life, and character, and hopes, none of the cousins had any knowledge or revelation. Now and then Squire Warner had boasted to a city friend of the grand relation out in Paris, or Vienna, or Petersburg, whichever city at the time might be the place of her abiding. But the others had kept no track of her flitting whatever, and it came upon them like a dizzy stroke of fortune when they learned that her terrible misfortune, the sinking of a yacht containing her husband and two children, brought within the possibility of their grasp the magnificent fortune which, to their unsophisticated minds, seemed little short of that of Monte Christo. No wonder, then, that to those who understood the case, the simple coolly-worded invitation to come to her home, and make Mrs. Arnold Atherton's acquaintance, seemed the "open sesame to undreamed-of riches.

There were five cousins in all to be represented. Three of her own, two of her husband's. The children of these were summoned, and seven individuals comprised the number, for one of the cousins was childless, and in the other families, with the exception of Squire Warner's, there were two members. Two children, two young ladies and three gentlemen, found themselves in a handsome drawing-room, one afternoon, bowing most respectfully to a pale haggard woman, clad in the deepest sable.

With the exception of the two who gave each other a swift glance of tender joy, and murmured under breath, "O Harry!" "Why, my darling Winnie!" the heirs elect had never met before, and they gave each other sundry inquiring jealous glances as they received their introductions.

Miss Clarice Atherton made much of her possessing the family name, and swept a scornful glance over the quiet retiring figure that crept into the shade of the window drapery when the pompous Squire War

was very tall, very decided in manner and appearance, and her brilliant brunette beauty evidently made its impression upon the gentlemen of the party.

If Winnie thought her manners loud and coarse, betraying a mind lacking refinement and culture, nothing in her demeanor showed it, even when Miss Clarice chose to assume an authoritative, arrogant way toward herself when they were left to entertain themselves, upon Mrs. Arnold Atherton's retirement. As little did she resent the contemptuous ignoring of her presence, which the stranger gentlemen adopted, taking their cue, perhaps, from Squire Warner, who fell into the mistake of supposing that Winnie was a hired companion, to beguile the weariness of the invalid's sorrowful life, when the latter called her to place a footstool, and then quietly detained her by her side.

Mrs. Arnold Atherton did not, however, allow them much opportunity to make a mutual acquaintance. She saw them all separately an hour or so in her boudoir, and talked with each one quietly and kindly, without in the least betraying any hint of the result of the subtle analysis of character she thus obtained. Then she performed the duties of a hostess, invalided, to be sure, but still with that wellbred grace of manner that gave them a hint of what her happy prime must have been, and so kept them in an attentive circle about her chair.

She was a sad broken-hearted woman, whose interest in life had been suddenly and sharply wrenched away. For all her courteous graceful ways, they were never allowed to forget that. Her talk was seldom of her own sorrow, but often of the disappointments and trials of life. She read them many a homily upon the duties of a worthy life-upon the perils of gliding gayly upon a prosperous wave, unprepared for the unseen dangers lurking near. And always she ended by turning upon them her sweet grave face, and saying, with a gentle smile, as she laid her thin white hand on the well-worn velvet-bound Bible which was her constant companion:

"Ah, my friends, if there is one thing more than another I would have you take as a legacy of mine, it is this abjuration: Search the Scriptures. They alone will satisfy and sustain you."

Before the week was out I am not sure but every one of the guests found themselves depressed in spirit, and longing for a change from the grave still monotony of the sick woman's life. I know that the squire would gladly have left his son to care for his own chances, if he had not been afraid of Winnifred Lermont's secret influence, and that Miss Clarice Atherton secretly declared to the young gentlemen that she should die of ennui if compelled to remain a day over the allotted time. Winnifred Lermont herself had no complaint to make. She was resting in mind and body, serenely happy in Harry's silent presence, and the earnest loving glances which even the squire's vigilance could not restrain. She was, moreover, moved by a profound sympathy for the stricken heart whose sufferings were one day accidentally revealed to her.

She had been wandering alone in the upper hall, and stopped to look long and intently at a thrilling picture of the Apostle at Patmos. The weird grand prophecy of the eyes that seemed to see so far and high fascinated her, and she was standing before the canvas breathless and spellbound, when the mistress of the house came gliding to her, and laying a cold hand on hers, asked: "What are you thinking, child ?"

“O madam, of more than I can tell you! How sublime that face is! It awes and frightens me as well as fills me with solemn joy. It seems to prophesy still."

“Ay, so it does, so it did!" came in a low fierce whisper. "He asked me what it said to me-my husband-when he brought it to me. It was one of his last gifts, and I answered him lightly that it could not have much dark prophecy for us. O Heaven, the careless heedless creature that I was! so madly gay, so secure in my hap piness and safety that very day when my all went down! Child, child, do not trust too much ever to prosperous circumstances! There is but one Rock, one Refuge, one abiding Anchor!"

The last words came forth gaspingly. The lady was deadly pale; she trembled from head to foot as with an ague.

Winnie passed her strong young arm around her, and helped her back to her couch, and ministered to her, while the wild storm of sobs and tears lasted. She learned at length all the anguish of the tortured heart, while those low passionate cries pierced her ears.

"O, my noble husband! my beautiful brave boys! My all, my all snatched away from me at one ruthless grasp!-and I dancing at the moment at a court ball, triumphing in my proud position, and boasting of my security!"

The low tone of horror thrilled Winnie's heart. Her own tears fell warm and fast as she kissed the cold hands, and stroked the throbbing temples, and tried to murmur her feeble words of comfort. Mrs. Atherton kept her with her until her composure returned, and when she dismissed her she kissed her young relative, and said, again:

"Remember the lesson I bequeathe; there is but one hope that can sustain. Search the Scriptures till you find it."

But when she met her again the hostess wore the same grave, sad, reserved air, and there was no allusion to the little scene. And the week was soon up, and the guests were quietly dismissed, each instinctively understanding from her manner that the parting was final, and no one receiving any tangible encouragement or hint of the lady's intentions.

Winnie took her place quietly as the governess of the Aspinwalls, and it was there that the black-edged letter came three months afterward, which announced the release of the weary spirit, and summoned the same party to Mrs. Arnold Atherton's funeral.

If there had been jealous glances and plentiful signs of suppressed eagerness before, the excitement of the summoned relatives might well have warmed to fever heat when, after the funeral, they were requested by the lawyer to remain at the mansion over night, and listen to the reading of the will the next day.

Winnie was too profoundly impressed with the sadness of the scene to join Miss Clarice, when that young lady gathered the gentlemen about her in the grand drawing-room, which had not been opened to them on their previous visit, and entertained herself by examining the costly bijouterie that had been gathered from all quarters of the globe. Neither would she comply with Harry's coaxing glance, and follow him to the library, rich in rare and costly volumes. The whole house was open to them-even the chamber of the departed, where everything was arranged as the mistress had chosen to have it in