shall have trials which I never contemplated; and oh, how thankful I am that you taught me to be happy on principle; for, when I am most sorrowful, most lonely, and longing for you and for all at this dear, beautiful place, I shall remember that no lot of God's appointing can rightly be a subject of regret. You told me that, do you remember, when we talked of Anne's lameness, and I told her, and she says she never forgets it, and never repines now at what she used to call her hard fate. And my fate seems hard too, does it not, dear auntie?" continued Minna, looking up with tearful eyes. Lady Fortrose embraced her with answering tears. "You are noble and true-hearted, my own darling, and I see you have judged rightly, but I cannot believe we shall be parted long. And you will be happy; I trust and pray that you may. And you know how we all love you, and shall wish for you back again, so do not give up the thought of returning. But you shall go, and be quite your father's own child again, and be a blessing to him and to Bessie. I know she loves you fondly, and will value your sacrifice as it should be valued; but how shall I comfort all you leave here I despair of your uncle's consent, for he will scarcely see as I can how you may be wanted at home; and poor Winifred, what will she do without you, Minna ?" "She is partly prepared by the conversation of which I told you, and if she sees you think it right, too, she will bear it bravely, I daresay. You know she would expect me to do right," said Minna, trying to smile. Pentyre will not know itself without you though, my darling, and the spring days that you love so much, will seem quite mournful. And must it be as soon as you said?" "I think so I fear so; when I have written home. I hear him coming, and I And Minna left the room. but we shall know better You will tell my uncle. cannot meet him now." CHAPTER XX. GUYSBROOKE. Love is never lost, though hearts run waste; Its bitterest waters run some golden sands! GERALD MASSEY. Few more ready than a child to share an elder's grief, And many an aching wearied heart hath owned their love's relief. They do not proffer counsel, sage in words of measured tone; But quivering lip and tearful eye proclaim the grief their own. It was the evening of the 25th of February. In a low room, not very well lighted by two composition candles, Bessie Raymond was seated at work; her face was very pale, and she looked sad, but she rose quickly to meet Minna, who entered the room with her arms full of books and music. "They are all unpacked at last, Bessie; will you help me to arrange them ?" and she dropped her burden in a heap on the table. Bessie took one of the candles, and placed it on the top of a low bookcase, and then she knelt down, and began removing some of the books in the lowest shelf of it. "What are you doing?" said Minna. Making room for your books; these can go up stairs; I only put them here because the shelves looked so bare." "Oh, thank you," said Minna, cheerfully, and she began to replace with her own books those which Bessie had taken out. "Now, Bessie, don't kneel any longer, you will be so tired." "Are not you tired, Minna, with unpacking all those books? you have been nearly an hour at them.” "No, I have not been unpacking all the time." No, indeed she had not, for once in the midst of her work -was it very weak-she had sat down to cry, giving way to the associations called up by the sight of her books, and remained thinking of Pentyre, and the change that had passed over her life, till warned by the gathering darkness that it was time to finish. Minna had now been a fortnight at Guysbrooke; she had come in time to see Rhoda married, and to receive her praises and heartfelt thanks for the comfort her noble resolution gave to her father and sisters. Minna needed comfort herself. Lord Fortrose had taken her to Bristol, thus assisting, much against his will, in what he called her voluntary exile; and when he resigned her to Frank's care, it was with many sad and affectionate farewells, and grave injunctions to Frank to take care of her, and value her as she deserved. "And remember, Minna,” he added, "I have never given my consent to your leaving us, and I shall forgive you only when you return." Minna had written to her father to propose the change, and he had greeted the offer with the most undisguised satisfaction and pleasure. When he told his daughters, which he did not until he had answered Minna's letter, Bessie's exclamation of incredulous delight was instantly checked by a far different, though not less loving thought. "Oh, father," cried she, "you have not said 'yes ;' you will not let her come." "Not let her, Bessie! why, what can you be thinking of? Do you suppose I would refuse to take my own child home, when she asks it? I thought you loved your sister." 66 Oh, yes, papa, that I do indeed, but does she really wish to come? Can she? I thought she could never leave Pentyre." "But my dear Bessie, why should she ask to come if she does not wish? See her own very words,'Will you let me come home, and be your own child again, and help you to take care of Bessie; it will make me so happy to be doing my duty to you, and I will try and make up for Rhoda's absence, though I fear I can never be half as useful.' There you see, poor dear, would you have me write and tell her not to come? I only wish your dear mother could have known that the dear child would turn back to her own old home at last; but I wonder what has brought her to it; some vexation or disappointment I suppose, but I wont have her teased for reasons; she has asked to come home, and home she shall come, and stay while I have a roof to shelter her pretty head. I never could have asked her to do it, but now she asks it herself, I can but thank God for the blessing, and hope he has forgiven me for letting her go." What could Bessie say or do. Her heart told her that Minna was making a sacrifice, but her father had |