ray. The largest sorrows, dear Millie, are never too great for his control, and the small heart-trouble, which we would blush to own to our fellow-men, is not too slight for his healing touch.

"Suppose now, Millie," continued Mr Foster, and he hesitated for a moment, "suppose there should be real, downright, though delicate and maidenly love in that little fluttering heart of yours for the friend of your childhood; think you that its burden would become more oppressive by pouring out your soul in prayer for strength and comfort?”

What then, after all, did Mr Foster look on her as a sentimental love-sick girl? In a moment her face revealed the workings of her heart to his scrutinising eye.

66

Nay, Millie," he said, repressing the smile which her look of innocent and troubled surprise had almost sent to his lips, "I was only speaking of what might very naturally be the case. It seemed to me, from your own account, that Mr Strafford has been to you father, brother, teacher, and playmate; and why are you to feel no attachment to so kind a friend?

"I should have thought you unimpressible as iron, Millie," he continued, "if you betrayed no regard for your early friend; and though I am getting an old man now," he added, lightly passing his fingers through his grey hairs as he spoke, "I can well understand how you feel it impossible for any other to supply Mr Strafford's place in your affections."

This was plain speaking; but, with the discom

fiture arising from the idea that her innermost thoughts were thus taken, at another's will, out of the recesses of her heart, was mingled a soothing persuasion that they were in safe keeping. It was the first time since Mr Strafford's departure that Millie's feelings had been understood by any one; what marvel, then, that, after another earnest look of astonishment at Mr Foster, as if to ascertain by what magical gift of sight he thus looked in on emotions she had been so strenuously endeavouring to conceal, she burst into tears?

How wisely he proceeded! He took no notice whatever of this gentle heart-rain,-only, perhaps, putting a still deeper infusion of tenderness into his manner, as he thus continued :—

"Whatever the trial be, my dear child, take it to Him who does not weary at the oft-repeated tale of suffering; tell him the anxieties which sadden, the yearning thoughts that oppress your heart; unreservedly unfold to him those delicate feelings which your dearest friend might misunderstand. Till you learn to do this, you will ever be unstable as water, depressed or elated by every passing change of mental atmosphere. " How his manly voice deepened, and what trust was expressed in the tone, as he said, "Thou will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee; because he trusteth in thee!"

"I wish I were more like you," said Millie.

"Wish only, my dear," he replied, in his kind

fatherly way, God."

"that you walked more closely with

His influence came over her; and, different as those two were in age, character, and education, there was a bond between them; they were travelling on the same road, and it was pleasant for Millie to ask the way; even with her guide-book in her hand, it was soothing to hear him speak of the light he had seen illuminating the darkest places.

O wonderful power of faith! from that evening, on the dimness of this secret sorrow a ray of comfort fell, a far off starlight trust trembled on the restless waves of thought; and in the hour of temptation, when repining feelings pressed heavily on her, when listening to the wayward pleadings of her heart, she pressed forward from difficulty into danger; on her fears for Mr Strafford this mysterious light lingered, on her anxieties for her early friend a sense of security, as fragrance from Eden, was shed, and when her own spirit quivered in its dismay, she could place him she so loved under the shadow of the promise, "Fear not, for I am with him; be not afraid, for I am his God."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE WATERS RUFFLED.

ever.

MILLIE could not always be conversing with Mr Foster, not always could his soothing words rest like balm on her spirit. That cottage was fair as The wide blue river passed gently on, making sweet melody to itself, as if in gratitude for the elegant water-lilies it bore on its bosom. The willows, not in weeping, but in the plenitude of their rich foliage, bent their pensile boughs over the waters, and Summer stood still in its loveliness without the slightest impress of Autumn's beautiful but desolating finger.

The fields were white already to harvest, and from her little chamber-window Millie could see the golden glebes, spreading out in fine and striking contrast against the dark hedges and matured foliage of the trees. There was music amongst the singing birds, and music, too, in the pleasant tones of children's voices borne upon the balmy air from the distant fields. But there were discordant thoughts in Millie's mind, which could not mingle harmoniously with nature, and you could see from the unquiet expres-> sion of her eye that she was not communing with saddened memory, but harassing herself by dwelling on present difficulties.

It was whilst her mind was in this troubled state

that Lady Puffington was announced at Hillside Cottage.

Millie had not seen her since the angry discussion at Mrs Storer's, and was at first painfully embarrassed; but this feeling melted away, under the conviction that her nervous manner was evidently cause of triumph to Lady Puffington.

She therefore continued to occupy herself quietly with her needle, leaving Miss Rachel to bear up as best she might under the torrent of egotism which her conversation outpoured; and at length, when this pompous lady came out of self, it was only to shoot forth against others the arrows of her bitter words.

Some apparently casual remarks of hers caused a wild desire of independence to spring up in Millie's heart. Cutting observations pierced her very soul, yet coming forth in tones so silvery, and amidst smiles so bland, that one felt for a moment half inclined to question their purpose.

"It was all very well to receive kindnesses gracefully," her ladyship observed; "but some persons managed to live on the bounty of others with an ease that was to her astonishing." Lady Puffington made this remark in reference to her housemaid, whom she had maintained through a long illness, and who now wished to creep about her house, receiving money, and yet absolutely doing nothing.

During this observation her eyes rest pointedly on Millie, yet this must be a mistake; she is only