ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS. 8&3

the girl’s great trouble.was, that the old woman
could neither see to read the Word of God her-
self, nor hear her when she read it to her; but
the lame girl had no time to waste with grief,
so she plied her needle rapidly through the night-
watches, not daring to shed a tear upon the
work, or damp her needle with a sigh. Rose
was not as sorry for her as she would have been
at any other time, for individual sorrow has few
sympathies; but the more she thought of the
lonely lame girl, the less became her own trou-
ble, and she might have gone to bed with the
consciousness which, strange to say, brings con-
solation, that there was one very near more
wretched than herself, had she not seen the form
of Edward Lynne glide like a spectre from be-
neath the old elm-tree, and stand before the
window. Rose retreated, but still observed him;
the moon was shining on the window, so he
must have seen the form, without, perhaps, being
able to distinguish whose it was. Rose watch.
ed him until his silent death-like presence op-
pressed her heart and brain, and she closed her
eyes to shut out what had become too painful
to look upon. When she looked again, all was
sleeping in the moonlight as before; but he was
one. At the same moment Helen turned rest-
essly on her pillow, and sobbed and muttered
oO herself. Rose felt that pillow wet with tears.

*“ Helen!” she exclaimed; ‘ Helen, dear

elen! ee Awake, Helen!” Her cousin,