ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS. 121

ings, all in print—very cruel—I who loved her
so, and took care of her—I never could find
out from Rose whether or no she thought her
happy. Ah, Rose isa good girl! not, however,”
added the old lady, again wiping away her tears
—‘ not, however, to be compared to her lady-
ship; and I would not say what I have done to
any one in the world but you, sir, who have
known them all their lives.”

So talked old Mrs. Myles, and so she contin-
ued to talk at intervals, during the next five
years, growing weaker in mind and body, until
at last she took to her bed. ‘I could die hap-
py,” said the old woman, “if I were to see He-
len once more; write to her, Rose, and tell her
so; she will not refuse to see me, her*first friend
—only once.” a

Communications between the cousins had
ceased for a long time, but Rose wrote. Mrs.
Myles sent twice every day to the post-office—
and her hopes, so constantly disappointed, in-
creased her fever; at the end of a week, a letter
came.

‘Give it me, Rose, give it me!” exclaimed
Mrs. Myles, “it is from my own darling child,
bless her !—my beauty! Oh, deary me! I’m
sure that’s a beautiful seal, if I could only see
it; prop me up—there. How the jessamine
blinds the window—now my spectacles—so”—
She tried hard to read, but the power of sight
was gone. ‘ She used to write the best hand in