MILLIE'S VICTORY.
 utterly. Poor child! Only those who have lost a
 mother can know the bitter want that made her feel
 so utterly miserable.
 The next day she went to the Rectory to begin
 lessons, but she did not speak of her trouble. She was
 of a truly chivalrous nature, and would have scorned
 to complain of her aunt; and the Rectory children
 could only guess by her white face, and mournful eyes,
 that things were not all pleasant at Briony Cottage.
 The days went on swiftly or slowly, as days will,
 until the earth grew aflame with the radiant hues of
 autumn, and the flowers in the Rectory garden drooped
 and died.
 One morning, a dreary, uncomfortable morning,
 Millie came down with a slight cold. In vain she
 strove to hide it from Miss Conway's sharp eyes. She
 was ordered to stay in.
 I have no wish for you to be ill on my hands
 again, so sit in by the fire and sew. It will do you
 good for once."
 Millie submitted with very ill grace. She was feeling
 very unwell, and the great heap of work Miss Conway
 prepared for her made her eyes ache to look at it.
 She stitched on steadily enough for a little after
Miss Conway left the house, and was in the middle of
a long hem, when a merry tap on the window-pane
aroused her.
 It was Reginald, come to look after her.
 "The girls are all distrait-isn't that the word,
Mademoiselle ?-at your staying at home. What's
the matter? Let me feel your pulse," he added, in a
professionally grave manner, with a twinkle in his
blue eyes.
 Oh, dear I I have only the ghost of a cold, but
aunus ? I shall be all right to-morrow."