sunbeam had been withdrawn. No sooner had the absence of the bright, loving child become a reality to Mrs. Raymond, than she was assailed with doubts as to the prudence and justice of the step to which she had consented; these she did not impart to her husband, for he left the house as soon as Lady Fortrose's carriage was out of sight, and was not seen by any of his family till late in the evening; but Mrs. Raymond had not a mind capable of bearing its burden uncommunicated, and she threw herself on her daughter for sympathy and support, which she received in a helpless, sorrowful manner from one who needed it far more. Is not this often the case? Have we not all seen those who, from the very depth of feeling which adds to the intensity of their grief, draw the power of controlling it, and are expected and enabled to be the comforters of such as feel less, and are less able to endure what they do feel? Such was Margaret's case now. As the evening drew on, the younger children being gone to bed, Mrs. Raymond, who had half forgotten her grief in her cares for them, resumed the often-repeated complaint, that she had not had time to think.

Margaret, who knew that time had had nothing to do with the subject, was obliged to remind her mother of all the good reasons she had herself adduced for giving up the child. Arguing against her own heart, she said all she could think of to prevent the sad feeling of self-reproach which she saw rising in Mrs. Raymond's mind; and while the cry of her conscience was, "I would never have let her go,” she earnestly sought to bring her mother to rest on the consciousness of having done what both Mr. Raymond and herself

believed to be right in this very difficult and painful

case.

Mr. Raymond's return from his long walk was a great relief to Margaret; whether he saw her patient, saddened look, or whether he guessed what her task had been it is impossible to say, but he very kindly advised her to go to bed, adding—

"It is early, but you look tired, dear, and I shall be company for mamma now."

Margaret thankfully took his advice, and once in the solitude of her room, she gave full scope to the long-suppressed burst of sorrow, which would have astonished anybody who was unacquainted with the depth of the apparently still waters of Margaret's soul.

It was a hard struggle to prevent rebellious feelings from gaining the mastery; many a time did the thought recur," they had no right to send her away," but then came the duty of submission to her father's will, and the remembrance that this must also be willed by her heavenly Father, or He would not have allowed her to be tried with such a trial; and before she fell asleep, Margaret was able to pray with an honest heart that she might be enabled to do her duty to her other sisters and to her brothers, as if they were as dear to her as Minna was.

Happily for Margaret's resolution, many changes followed the one that had rendered it necessary. Harry was sent to a school where he was to be prepared to enter the navy, his darling wish thus appearing in a fair way to be gratified, Lord Fortrose having promised to use his interest in placing him with a most excellent captain, as soon as he should have passed the requisite examinations. Frank became the daily pupil (through

Honoria's liberal assistance) of a clergyman who received a limited number of boys, and who lived not more than half a mile from King's Holm.

Rhoda was thus deprived of her usual companions, and was more dependent on Margaret than she had hitherto been, and this was fortunate for both the sisters, for Rhoda was now too old to romp with Frank, and required the elevating and softening influence of an elder sister, and Margaret, who would have been in some danger of dwelling too much on her loss, was soon surprised to find how great an interest Rhoda's improvement was to her; and indeed great as had been her pleasure in teaching Minna the first steps of education, it was quite a new delight to feel the sympathy of an intelligent mind like that of Rhoda, who entered with much zest and energy into the studies in which Margaret delighted, and in which, especially in that of history, she was an admirable assistant to her younger sister.

It was fortunate also that Mrs. Raymond's devotion to her delicate baby, Bessie, did not permit her to devolve that charge upon Margaret, who would in such a case have had too much time for quiet musing while watching the gentle suffering child; feeling, however, that all her mother required was time and leisure for attention to Bessie, Margaret now made it her business to relieve Mrs. Raymond from other cares, and, in so doing, found her reward in the experience that occupation is one of the best cures for grief. But it is not the intention of the author of this story to give a detailed account of Margaret's further life, which will only be noticed when brought into connexion with Minna, and we will therefore pursue our little heroine's history in the following chapter.

CHAPTER III.

MINNA'S HOME.

The stately homes of England, how beautiful they stand,
Amidst their tall ancestral trees o'er all the pleasant land!
The deer across their greensward bound through shade and sunny
gleam,

And the swan glides past them with the sound of some rejoicing
stream.
MRS. HEMANS.

A home

Such as to early thought gives images
The longest treasured and most oft recalled,
And brightest kept of love; a mountain home
That with the murmur of its rocking pines
And sounding waters first in childhood's heart
Wakes the deep sense of nature unto joy.

MRS. HEMANS.

FIVE years had passed since the events alluded to in the last chapter. Minna was now no longer the only child at Pentyre castle. Lady Fortrose's children, Herbert, Winifred, and Geraldine, were, according to their ages, the companions or playfellows of their cousin ; nor did their claims in any way interfere with the place that had long been given to Minna in Lady Fortrose's heart. The winning ways of the little girl had deepened and confirmed the impression made at first, we must allow chiefly by her beauty, and, as her home among the Welch mountains enabled Lady Fortrose to devote more time to domestic interests

equal to those of She had seen her every year during

than she could have given had she resided chiefly in London, Minna had been so much her companion both in the house and out, that at eight years old her mind and conversation were quite many children of eleven or twelve. sisters generally for a few days in the month that Lady Fortrose spent in London, and from time to time letters in a childish hand, with peculiar orthography, for they were not looked over, gladdened Margaret's constant heart.

But Minna had now become Lady Fortrose's child, if deep love and reverence constitute the feeling of that relationship. Perhaps some people may be inclined to object to the term reverence, as applied to a feeling entertained by so young a child; but certainly Minna's admiration for her aunt, as she was accustomed to call Honoria, partook of that quality. She was very fond of Herbert, her merry, bright-eyed playfellow, who, though four years her junior, seemed to divide his affections pretty equally between her and his twin sister, Winifred, and towards the latter Minna felt and showed all a little elder sister's protecting love. Still, her highest and deepest affection was reserved for Lady Fortrose.

Often had Margaret watched anxiously, during the short visits she was able to pay her little sister, to be quite sure that Minna was really as fond of her cousin as she seemed to be. Jealously, too, did she observe the advances made by Winifred, to see if Minna's place or privileges were encroached upon; and it was with a sort of regretful satisfaction that she confessed to herself that Minna's adopted home left nothing to be wished, no shadow for an excuse to ask for her back