Elliott, because I have taken this into my own hands."

"I am not angry," said Dym, slipping her hand into his with a sweet smile. "Why do you call me Miss Elliott? I am very much obliged to you, Humphrey; it is I who have been wrong. I ought not to have given you so much trouble."

Humphrey was quite taken aback by the girl's humility and gentleness.

Humphrey had no more trouble with her after that; next morning she took leave of her humble friends, and was very quiet and dry-eyed when he put her into the carriage. Little Dick climbed up for a last embrace, and Susan had her apron up to her eyes.

"Good-bye; you have all been so good to me," faltered Dym.

The sun streamed down on the dusty pavement; the women came to their doors and looked after the retreating carriage. Dym, leaning back and closing her eyes, saw a quiet face with an ineffable smile stamped upon it, and knew that wherever she went, that one day she should see it again, "smiling at her like one of God's dear angels."

Dym was too weary to say much to Humphrey when he parted from her at the door of Ingleside. The servants went downstairs and spoke pityingly of the young creature who looked so changed and pale in her deep mourning; even Mrs. Fortescue melted at the sight of the sad young face, and kissed her quite affectionately.

VOL. III.

8

Dym, who was yearning for love and sympathy, never forgot that kiss.

Dym would have been puzzled if any one had asked her how she spent her days. Humphrey came often, but he did not stay long; and byand-bye he went back to Mentone. Mr. Chichester had been seized with a low fever, which prolonged their stay; but as soon as he was able to bear the fatigue, Humphrey went to remove them to a cooler place; and by slow stages and frequent pauses he hoped to bring them safely to England by the middle of August.

Dym wrote long letters to Mrs. Chichester, and took endless walks with Kiddle-a-wink, and grew more miserable every day; she was longing for her friends-pining for them; and the delay grew more sickening each hour.

"We are coming home," wrote Humphrey at last to her, and Dym's heart gave a sudden bound; but as she read the next few words it sank lower and lower; "if all be well we shall be with you in another forty-eight hours—that is, Madam and the nurse and baby; but the Squire has suddenly made up his mind to take a seavoyage he talks of going out by one of the Peninsular and Oriental steamers to Calcutta.

"He has shaken off the effects of his illness, but looks languid still. I think, for Madam's sake, it is a pity that the doctors have put this notion of a sea-voyage into his head, for if he once get away from us, one can never know when he will come back again. I think it is better to face trouble than to run away from it,

as he has done all his life," finished Humphrey in his blunt way.

As Dym opened this letter a note dropped out and fell to the ground. Dym's hand fairly shook as she picked it up, and the colour rushed to her face, for she recognised Mr. Chichester's handwriting.

"MY DEAR MISS ELLIOTT,-Perhaps you have thought that I might have written before; but what is there that we can find to say to each other? There is only one person to whom, in all these four months, I could have borne to have spoken of my trouble, and that is your brother, and he is dead. Had he lived, I might have spent a lifetime at St. Luke's, trying to work out some of my misery, instead of vainly endeavouring to crush it out in miles of ocean. you have lost him! I am grieved still more in my grief to know it; but be comforted, you are too young to break your heart, and life has something in reserve for you. I am sending my mother and child home to Ingleside.

So

I know

you will love and take care of them. Be my faithful little friend, still, and help my mother to forget some of her cares.

"God bless you! When you have a prayer to spare you may waste it on one who is ever your true friend,

"GUY LATIMER CHICHESTER."

It was that letter, so curt, so tender, yet so bitter in its sorrow, that first roused Dym from the apathy of her own grief.

The harvest-fields were being reaped round Birst with when Mrs. Chichester bade farewell to her son, and came back to her solitary home, escorted by the faithful Humphrey.

Dym ran out on the sunny terrace to receive them, and just in time to see Humphrey assisting the foreign-looking nurse to descend from the carriage.

Dym stretched out her arms when she caught sight of the fluttering white cloak and dimpled hands. "Oh, give me the baby!" she cried; and as she stooped over it the child opened a pair of solemn grey eyes and smiled at her.

"Little Florence, little Florence, how I shall love you!" whispered Dym; and for the first time since Will's death something like returning happiness stole into her face.

CHAPTER VI.

"C ALL IN THE WILD MARCH MORNING."

HREE years and a half have passed away since the events recorded in the

last chapter-more than three whole years since Guy Chichester took his passage in the Montezuma en route for Calcutta ; and still Ingleside is without its master.

It is more than eighteen months now since they have heard from him.

And some who loved him well say that the brief unhappy life is finished, and that Guy Chichester will never come back to his own again.

Mr. Fortescue says so, and Cousin Katherine; and Humphrey even shakes his honest head more. sadly every day when the Squire's name is mentioned; and Beatrix Delaire puts on mourning, and cries her beautiful eyes quite dim for the cousin she has lost; but still the mother hopes and prays, and stretches out her arms to Dym when she comes in to wish her a grave good-night.

"What was it he said? tell me again, my dear;" and Dym whispers the words, which