we need to discover the gifts and graces which often lie far down in the hearts of those with whom we associate! The closed-up flower may be waiting only for darkness to unfold its beautiful petals, and the unnoticed dew-drops for but one sun ray to convert them into diamonds. It is from circumstances that we learn each other, and our knowledge is at best imperfect so imperfect that many of the defects perceptible in our friend, and unsightly to us, are but the heart's rugged depths, amidst which lie hidden springs of crystal water.

In the rich twilight still they sat, and Millie's waist was tenderly encircled by Mrs Storer's arm; for a sense of sweet relationship was springing up between them the relationship of sorrow and hope.

"I am very anxious that my children should again have a pious instructress," said the neglected mother, and a thrilling remorse passed through Millie's heart as she answered, "I have been altogether to blame, dear friend, and now that I am about to leave you, it is with regret inexpressible that I think of my imperfectly performed duties. Can you love me after my neglect of my trust, and when I am gone will you think of me and pray for me?"

Mrs Storer's answer was all that Millie desired, and then they talked long and fervently together, and on the sterile ground of that morning's sorrow a soft shower had fallen, and the hearts of both were refreshed. "He stayeth his rough wind in the day of his east wind."

CHAPTER XXIV.

MISS RACHEL STITCHING.

WHEN Mrs Storer left the room, Millie, in her exhaustion, slept, if that may be called sleep which has nothing to do with rest; for her mind was racked with a saddened foreboding, too indefinite for anxiety, too mysterious perhaps for the reality of sorrow, yet pursuing her even in dreams.

When Mrs Storer re-entered the room her whole countenance was lighted up by new and pleasant thought, the beaming of some bright idea that had spontaneously arisen in her mind. She looked at that slumbering girl, and in a moment all expression of cheerfulness vanished. Millie appeared so much more deeply sorrowful now than when, in her new grief, she had first arrived at Grove House, prepared to combat with change. Troubled thoughts were not stilled; these could be seen by the occasional start, and the sudden pained expression of the small mouth, so purely sweet still. There was a look of endurance, too, marked under each sunken eye, and her heavy breathing seemed but the heart's struggle to break through the fetters of perplexity that bound her even in sleep. Gently arousing her, "I am going at once to Miss Rachel," Mrs Storer said; "it has just occurred to me that she will be most happy to receive you." "But who is Miss Rachel?" said

Millie, "and what do you mean? you surely cannot be going out to-night?" "Indeed I am, though," she playfully answered, "none will miss me; and as she said this, just the slightest tone of sadness was infused into her voice; then cheerfully she continued, "But I shall not take the valley way, that would be rather lonely; I shall go through the village, down the West Dingle, and up the hill by Farmer Moriton's beautiful orchard, where the white blossom almost makes daylight. A little beyond, and within reach of the river's voice, is Miss Rachel Stitching's cottage,-a sweet place, with its flowers and sunshine, and steeping dews, and soft summer rains. She has for years been an invalid, and the doctor has prescribed for her a young companion. You would there be in a measure independent, and I think you would suit each other in many respects. I shall go and prepare her for your arrival to-morrow." Not for worlds would she have confessed to Millie that she intended to ask Miss Rachel, as a kindness to herself, to receive her exiled friend.

"I do not deserve such goodness," said Millie, and her voice told how much she appreciated the delicate consideration.

Millie is again alone. Night is everywhere,within that room, playing with the flickering firelight, for the evenings were still cold, and throwing so many shadows on a demure-looking ancestral bust in the corner, that it looked like the statue of despair. In restlessness of mood, Millie opened the window,

and without was the unfettered night in its serene magnificence. The moonbeams were pouring their silvery tide in chaste rays on the dim elm boughs, -the stars had all disappeared, as if conscious that their aid was needless on that glorious night, except, indeed, one or two lingerers, and they were faint and far away, and were making beautiful heaven, not earth.

The gentle evening breeze was whispering its nightly message of peace and goodwill to man, and to Millie it seemed to say, "Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might." Conscience whispered that she had been making flesh her arm,—she had, perhaps, been leaning on Mary's Christian love, and thus not wholly staying herself on God.

She closed the window, and knelt in prayer; at first, in trembling and sorrow, she poured out her complaints to her Saviour. All was sadness, but none ever seek his face in vain, and at length, oh how soothingly! fell those accents on her, "Fear not ye; for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified."

That solitude was of use to Millie. She looked into the past. She had never told those children under her care of the good Shepherd's watchful kindness. It is true, the theory of religion had been given in the formal instruction of the school-room, but this had been ineffectual and unimpressive, inasmuch as it was deficient in the earnestness of affection or the persuasiveness of gentle kindness.

These reflections made her sorrowful, but even as she wept she realised the comfort of that promise, "To him will I look who is of a meek and lowly spirit."

Mrs Storer at length returned, and brought in with her no small abundance of quiet gladness. She had never been mirthful, at least not since her early girlhood; and now so subdued and timid was her happiness, that Millie feared to put it out even by the breath of an inquiry. She thought, however, that she had never seen Mrs Storer look so beaming, and she playfully asked her, "If she had been catching the moon-rays ?" "I have done something better than that," she replied, laughing; "I have brought substance;" and she took from her basket some early strawberries, presenting them to Millie with one of the sweetest notes imaginable from Miss Rachel, begging Miss Howard to be her guest for a few weeks, till the return of her sister, Miss Ellen Stitching, from Scotland. Even the pecuniary part of the matter was arranged by the skilful hand of refinement, and as Millie faltered out her thanks to Mrs Storer, that kind face only became more expressive of tenderness, as she whispered, "He that trusteth in the Lord, mercy shall compass him about."

With a comparatively light heart, Millie left Grove House the next morning, accompanied by Mrs Storer.

The south wind was balmy and refreshing; small white clouds, like creatures of the air, were sporting on the blue expanse; the shower of the morning had gemmed every bough and leaf with crystals, and