to rights sundry wrong matters. There was list round the door through which the draught had so cruelly pierced, and a new soft cushion had found its way to the old arm-chair. That flickering fire-light no longer shone on the dull, dead shelf, but a neat row of plates, and some new white cups and saucers caught the light, and sent it on to the gilded top of a neat inkstand, from which it fell tremblingly on the gilded lettering of some carefully arranged books.

It was another and a better bedstead on which the blind grandmother slept; the blankets were warm and good, and the merino curtains had an air of comfort about them.

Mary had plenty of work,-quite as much as she could manage, and her heart was overflowing in its gratitude. She was thankful to her God, and spoke good of His name.

"Do you not remember, dear Miss Millie," she said, "whenever we went boldly to the throne of grace in our distress, that help was given?”

"Yes, dear Mary, and it was you who taught me the true meaning of that 'making known our requests' of which the Scriptures speak. It was not, you said, the morning and evening prayer of long established custom, but the carrying up of every perplexity, as well as every sorrow, at the very time it was oppressing us, to the great Sympathiser."

"Ah! Miss Millie," replied Mary, "the silent petition made when life is busy around has a wonderful effect in keeping one steady on the undulating

and ever-changing surface of time, and many, even among those who call God 'Father,' would not be buffeted from wave to wave of anxiety, if they poured out their hearts to Him who is ever a refuge for us." Mr Taylor had not forgotten Pump Court. He brought a very fair share of work to Mary, and discovered there could be sunlight even in the midst of that dreary winter. Sometimes, when his busy days were over, it was very pleasant to go up and see what Mary needed, under a plea of getting more work done. It gave a new kind of interest to the matter, this gentle veiling of his purposes; and when he saw the meek seamstress really looking better and more cheerful under the influence of the assistance he had been able to give her, he felt something very like genuine happiness.

Sometimes he persuaded Mary to call for more work, always contriving that her visits should be paid during his leisure hours. Mary had persuaded herself that her heart was closed to any warmer feeling than friendship. Though not so heavily sorrowladen as formerly, she had made up her mind that tranquillity only was now left for her in life; and with all the goodness and gentleness of her nature, coming forward as it were to meet Millie's prospect of happiness, the lone, waste future of her own life traced itself out on the map of thought, giving an indescribable melancholy to her manner as she conversed with Mr Taylor.

It softened, but did not cloud her sweet face;

neither did it weaken her earnest but ever active wish to comfort, nay more, to kindle heavenly faith and hope in the hearts of others.

As far as Mr Taylor was concerned, she succeeded marvellously in this good work. From her quiet and gentle intelligence he took many new thoughts, and discovered that the life of a small London tradesman need not be altogether commonplace,-made up of iron facts and the weary gathering together of shillings. The Sabbath could be something more than mere physical repose: from the cessation of the din of business he could more distinctly hear the angel's message, "A Son is born, a Saviour given!" His whole life was under the influence of new feelings and new hopes; and, with just the slightest touch of enthusiasm in the world-and this newly awakened and a diffident anxiety making itself visible in his manner, he asked Mary, as quietly as he could, to allow the old arm-chair to be placed by the fireside for her grandmother; and added, that he hoped Mary would take up her abode with him as his wife.

What could Mary say? Leigh James was banished from her heart. Dark shadows dwelt around his memory; and his name—once so melodious—a household word-was now no longer dear to her.

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Wife,”—did she hear aright? The sweet sound lingered on her ear, discordant thoughts jarred around it, mournful echoes from the past vibrated to the word, but it rose distinctly above all,—“ Wife.”

Mary was not easily excited, yet contending thoughts were strong within her, and she wept. An earnest voice was at her side, another hand in hers; she grew calm and tranquil, aye, and happy too, simply in the consciousness that she was beloved.

"Will you give me a little time for thought?" she said, and her meek smile and gentle, drooping look inspired Mr Taylor with hope.

Complicated indeed is the workmanship of these human hearts of ours! There was an elasticity in Mary's step during her homeward walk that had been unknown to it for years, and she had laid gently on her heart Mr Taylor's honest gift of affection before she was actually aware she had done so.

She sought guidance from her heavenly Father, and then trustfully fell asleep. Next morning the magic word "wife" still vibrated on her heart. It mingled with her thoughts of Millie and Mr Strafford, and its cadence seemed sanctified when she prayed. As she diligently adjusted her little chamber, how strange that her lips should involuntarily breathe out the gentle whisper, "wife!"

CHAPTER XXXIX.

SYMPATHY.

CHRISTMAS was passing with sober cheerfulness. The Misses Stillingfleet were getting stiffly reconciled to the idea, that in spite of Millie's companionship with Mary she was amongst them as a sister.

They had one or two warm arguments with their uncle on the subject of her familiarity with the seamstress, but he declared that Millie was under his care, and he silenced them all by his sudden gravity of tone and quiet, determined manner whilst speaking on the subject.

"I honour her truthfulness to that faithful creature," he said; "they have gone on together, patiently continuing in well-doing; they have had close companionship in sorrow and suffering, and such ties must not be broken."

Sometimes Millie slept at Mary's, and then again she would be an inmate at the Square; but Mr Strafford was now her escort through those dismal streets, and he had some struggle with himself, even for Mary's sake, to allow her to be for any length of time in Pump Court.

Mary thought Millie's voice more musical than ever, and perhaps Mr Strafford too was of this opinion, as sitting by her side at the little window, around