er, yet, still they sat, maintaining an unbroken silence, as if some strong magnetic force riveted them to the spot. Milly had an intense desire to penetrate the inner sanctuary of Amelia's soul, but was denied the privilege. No human being was the confident of her thoughts. Perhaps a slight feeling of regret for some neglected duty, either through ignorance or thoughtlessness, which might have mitigated her mother's sufferings, lent poignancy to the sorrow working in the outlines of her face, anon compressing the lips still more, as she looked into the dreary distance, and thought of the still more dreary hours of the long night whose sleepless vigils she kept. Not for a life of ease was she born, and there was work for her to do.
When other homes were made miserable by the same curse that had robbed her of childhood and blighted the sunniest years of youth, she could not be content to lead a life of comfort and self support merely, but what could she do? A question that implied no unbecoming self-distrust, for no one could seem less qualified for any ordinary undertaking. Apparently as cold as an iceberg she was never swayed by a single momentary impulse; "lookin'" as Kate expressed it, "so like a moonbeam gone to sleep." But those dull eyes were yet to be lighted with the brightness of a high, spiritual life;—that timid, faltering voice to grow strong in the inspiration of God's truth.
Was Milly content now that she lived in the midst of those tender affections which had been the Alpha and Omega of her day dreams, and of which she had
