BEFORE she had time to find a new situation, Christie received anote from Miss Tudor, saying that hearing she had left Mrs.Saltonstall she wanted to offer her the place of companion to aninvalid girl, where the duties were light and the compensationlarge.

"How kind of her to think of me," said Christie, gratefully. "I'llgo at once and do my best to secure it, for it must be a good thingor she wouldn't recommend it."

Away went Christie to the address sent by Miss Tudor, and as shewaited at the door she thought:

"What a happy family the Carrols must be!" for the house was one ofan imposing block in a West End square, which had its own littlepark where a fountain sparkled in the autumn sunshine, and prettychildren played among the fallen leaves.

Mrs. Carrol was a stately woman, still beautiful in spite of herfifty years. But though there were few lines on her forehead, fewsilver threads in the dark hair that lay smoothly over it, and agracious smile showed the fine teeth, an indescribable expression ofunsubmissive sorrow touched the whole face, betraying that life hadbrought some heavy cross, from which her wealth could purchase norelease, for which her pride could find no effectual screen.

She looked at Christie with a searching eye, listened attentivelywhen she spoke, and seemed testing her with covert care as if theplace she was to fill demanded some unusual gift or skill.

"Miss Tudor tells me that you read aloud well, sing sweetly, possessa cheerful temper, and the quiet, patient ways which are peculiarlygrateful to an invalid," began Mrs. Carrol, with that keen yetwistful gaze, and an anxious accent in her voice that went toChristie's heart.

"Miss Tudor is very kind to think so well of me and my fewaccomplishments. I have never been with an invalid, but I think Ican promise to be patient, willing, and cheerful. My own experienceof illness has taught me how to sympathize with others and love tolighten pain. I shall be very glad to try if you think I have anyfitness for the place."

"I do," and Mrs. Carrol's face softened as she spoke, for somethingin Christie's words or manner seemed to please her. Then slowly, asif the task was a hard one, she added:

"My daughter has been very ill and is still weak and nervous. I musthint to you that the loss of one very dear to her was the cause ofthe illness and the melancholy which now oppresses her. Therefore wemust avoid any thing that can suggest or recall this trouble. Shecares for nothing as yet, will see no one, and prefers to livealone. She is still so feeble this is but natural; yet solitude isbad for her, and her physician thinks that a new face might rouseher, and the society of one in no way connected with the painfulpast might interest and do her good. You see it is a littledifficult to find just what we want, for a young companion is best,yet must be discreet and firm, as few young people are."

Fancying from Mrs. Carrol's manner that Miss Tudor had said more inher favor than had been repeated to her, Christie in a fewplain-words told her little story, resolving to have no concealmentshere, and feeling that perhaps her experiences might have given hermore firmness and discretion than many women of her age possessed.Mrs. Carrol seemed to find it so; the anxious look lifted a littleas she listened, and when Christie ended she said, with a sigh ofrelief:

"Yes, I think Miss Tudor is right, and you are the one we want. Comeand try it for a week and then we can decide. Can you begin to-day?"she added, as Christie rose. "Every hour is precious, for my poorgirl's sad solitude weighs on my heart, and this is my one hope."

"I will stay with pleasure," answered Christie, thinking Mrs.Carrol's anxiety excessive, yet pitying the mother's pain, forsomething in her face suggested the idea that she reproached herselfin some way for her daughter's state.

With secret gratitude that she had dressed with care, Christie tookoff her things and followed Mrs. Carrol upstairs. Entering a room inwhat seemed to be a wing of the great house, they found an old womansewing.

"How is Helen to-day, Nurse?" asked Mrs. Carrol, pausing.

"Poorly, ma'am. I've been in every hour, but she only says: 'Let mebe quiet,' and lies looking up at the picture till it's fit to breakyour heart to see her," answered the woman, with a shake of thehead.

"I have brought Miss Devon to sit with her a little while. Doctoradvises it, and I fancy the experiment may succeed if we can onlyamuse the dear child, and make her forget herself and her troubles."

"As you please, ma'am," said the old woman, looking with littlefavor at the new-comer, for the good soul was jealous of anyinterference between herself and the child she had tended for years.

"I won't disturb her, but you shall take Miss Devon in and tellHelen mamma sends her love, and hopes she will make an effort forall our sakes."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Go, my dear, and do your best." With these words Mrs. Carrolhastily left the room, and Christie followed Nurse.

A quick glance showed her that she was in the daintily furnishedboudoir of a rich man's daughter, but before she could take a secondlook her eyes were arrested by the occupant of this pretty place,and she forgot all else. On a low luxurious couch lay a girl, sobeautiful and pale and still, that for an instant Christie thoughther dead or sleeping. She was neither, for at the sound of a voicethe great eyes opened wide, darkening and dilating with a strangeexpression as they fell on the unfamiliar face.

"Nurse, who is that? I told you I would see no one. I'm too ill tobe so worried," she said, in an imperious tone.

HELEN CARROL

"Yes, dear, I know, but your mamma wished you to make an effort.Miss Devon is to sit with you and try to cheer you up a bit," saidthe old woman in a dissatisfied tone, that contrasted strangely withthe tender way in which she stroked the beautiful disordered hairthat hung about the girl's shoulders.

Helen knit her brows and looked most ungracious, but evidently triedto be civil, for with a courteous wave of her hand toward an easychair in the sunny window she said, quietly:

"Please sit down, Miss Devon, and excuse me for a little while. I'vehad a bad night, and am too tired to talk just yet. There are booksof all sorts, or the conservatory if you like it better."

"Thank you. I'll read quietly till you want me. Then I shall be veryglad to do any thing I can for you."

With that Christie retired to the big chair, and fell to reading thefirst book she took up, a good deal embarrassed by her reception,and very curious to know what would come next.

The old woman went away after folding the down coverlet carefullyover her darling's feet, and Helen seemed to go to sleep.

For a time the room was very still; the fire burned softly on themarble hearth, the sun shone warmly on velvet carpet and richhangings, the delicate breath of flowers blew in through thehalt-open door that led to a gay little conservatory, and nothingbut the roll of a distant carriage broke the silence now and then.

Christie's eyes soon wandered from her book to the lovely face andmotionless figure on the couch. Just opposite, in a recess, hung theportrait of a young and handsome man, and below it stood a vase offlowers, a graceful Roman lamp, and several little relics, as if itwere the shrine where some dead love was mourned and worshippedstill.

As she looked from the living face, so pale and so pathetic in itsquietude, to the painted one so full of color, strength, andhappiness, her heart ached for poor Helen, and her eyes were wetwith tears of pity. A sudden movement on the couch gave her no timeto hide them, and as she hastily looked down upon her book atreacherous drop fell glittering on the page.

"What have you there so interesting?" asked Helen, in that softlyimperious tone of hers.

"Don Quixote," answered Christie, too much abashed to have her witsabout her.

Helen smiled a melancholy smile as she rose, saying wearily:

"They gave me that to make me laugh, but I did not find it funny;neither was it sad enough to make me cry as you do."

"I was not reading, I was" - there Christie broke down, and couldhave cried with vexation at the bad beginning she had made. But thatinvoluntary tear was better balm to Helen than the most perfecttact, the most brilliant conversation. It touched and won herwithout words, for sympathy works miracles. Her whole face changed,and her mournful eyes grew soft as with the gentle freedom of achild she lifted Christie's downcast face and said, with a falter inher voice:

"I know you were pitying me. Well, I need pity, and from you I'lltake it, because you don't force it on me. Have you been ill andwretched too? I think so, else you would never care to come and shutyourself up here with me!"

"I have been ill, and I know how hard it is to get one's spiritsback again. I've had my troubles, too, but not heavier than I couldbear, thank God."

"What made you ill? Would you mind telling me about it? I seem tofancy hearing other people's woes, though it can't make mine seemlighter."

"A piece of the Castle of the Sun fell on my head and nearly killedme," and Christie laughed in spite of herself at the astonishment inHelen's face. "I was an actress once; your mother knows and didn'tmind," she added, quickly.

"I'm glad of that. I used to wish I could be one, I was so fond ofthe theatre. They should have consented, it would have given mesomething to do, and, however hard it is, it couldn't be worse thanthis." Helen spoke vehemently and an excited flush rose to her whitecheeks; then she checked herself and dropped into a chair, saying,hurriedly:

"Tell about it: don't let me think; it's bad for me." Glad to be setto work, and bent on retrieving her first mistake, Christie plungedinto her theatrical experiences and talked away in her most livelystyle. People usually get eloquent when telling their own stories,and true tales are always the most interesting. Helen listened atfirst with a half-absent air, but presently grew more attentive, andwhen the catastrophe came sat erect, quite absorbed in the interestof this glimpse behind the curtain.

Charmed with her success, Christie branched off right and left,stimulated by questions, led on by suggestive incidents, andgenerously supplied by memory. Before she knew it, she was tellingher whole history in the most expansive manner, for women soon getsociable together, and Helen's interest flattered her immensely.Once she made her laugh at some droll trifle, and as if theunaccustomed sound had startled her, old nurse popped in her head;but seeing nothing amiss retired, wondering what on earth that girlcould be doing to cheer up Miss Helen so.

"Tell about your lovers: you must have had some; actresses alwaysdo. Happy women, they can love as they like!" said Helen, with theinquisitive frankness of an invalid for whom etiquette has ceased toexist.

Remembering in time that this was a forbidden subject, Christiesmiled and shook her head.

"I had a few, but one does not tell those secrets, you know."

Evidently disappointed, and a little displeased at being reminded ofher want of good-breeding, Helen got up and began to wanderrestlessly about the room. Presently, as if wishing to atone for herimpatience, she bade Christie come and see her flowers. Followingher, the new companion found herself in a little world whereperpetual summer reigned. Vines curtained the roof, slender shrubsand trees made leafy walls on either side, flowers bloomed above andbelow, birds carolled in half-hidden prisons, aquariums andferneries stood all about, and the soft plash of a little fountainmade pleasant music as it rose and fell.

Helen threw herself wearily down on a pile of cushions that laybeside the basin, and beckoning Christie to sit near, said, as shepressed her hands to her hot forehead and looked up with adistressful brightness in the haggard eyes that seemed to have norest in them:

"Please sing to me; any humdrum air will do. I am so tired, and yetI cannot sleep. If my head would only stop this dreadful thinkingand let me forget one hour it would do me so much good."

"I know the feeling, and I'll try what Lucy used to do to quiet me.Put your poor head in my lap, dear, and lie quite still while I cooland comfort it."

Obeying like a worn-out child, Helen lay motionless while Christie,dipping her fingers in the basin, passed the wet tips softly to andfro across the hot forehead, and the thin temples where the pulsesthrobbed so fast. And while she soothed she sang the "Land o' theLeal," and sang it well; for the tender words, the plaintive airwere dear to her, because her mother loved and sang it to her yearsago. Slowly the heavy eyelids drooped, slowly the lines of pain weresmoothed away from the broad brow, slowly the restless hands grewstill, and Helen lay asleep.

So intent upon her task was Christie, that she forgot herself tillthe discomfort of her position reminded her that she had a body.Fearing to wake the poor girl in her arms, she tried to lean againstthe basin, but could not reach a cushion to lay upon the cold stoneledge. An unseen hand supplied the want, and, looking round, she sawtwo young men standing behind her.

Helen's brothers, without doubt; for, though utterly unlike inexpression, some of the family traits were strongly marked in both.The elder wore the dress of a priest, had a pale, ascetic face, withmelancholy eyes, stern mouth, and the absent air of one who leads aninward life. The younger had a more attractive face, for, thoughbearing marks of dissipation, it betrayed a generous, ardent nature,proud and wilful, yet lovable in spite of all defects. He was veryboyish still, and plainly showed how much he felt, as, with a hastynod to Christie, he knelt down beside his sister, saying, in awhisper:

"Look at her, Augustine! so beautiful, so quiet! What a comfort itis to see her like herself again."

"Ah, yes; and but for the sin of it, I could find it in my heart towish she might never wake!" returned the other, gloomily.

"Don't say that! How could we live without her?" Then, turning toChristie, the younger said, in a friendly tone:

"You must be very tired; let us lay her on the sofa. It is very damphere, and if she sleeps long you will faint from weariness."

Carefully lifting her, the brothers carried the sleeping girl intoher room, and laid her down. She sighed as her head touched thepillow, and her arm clung to Harry's neck, as if she felt hisnearness even in sleep. He put his cheek to hers, and lingered overher with an affectionate solicitude beautiful to see. Augustinestood silent, grave and cold as if he had done with human ties, yetfound it hard to sever this one, for he stretched his hand above hissister as if he blessed her, then, with another grave bow toChristie, went away as noiselessly as he had come. But Harry kissedthe sleeper tenderly, whispered, "Be kind to her," with an imploringvoice, and hurried from the room as if to hide the feeling that hemust not show.

A few minutes later the nurse brought in a note from Mrs. Carrol.

"My son tells me that Helen is asleep, and you look very tired.Leave her to Hester, now; you have done enough to-day, so let methank you heartily, and send you home for a quiet night before youcontinue your good work to-morrow."

Christie went, found a carriage waiting for her, and drove home veryhappy at the success of her first attempt at companionship.

The next day she entered upon the new duties with interest andgood-will, for this was work in which heart took part, as well ashead and hand. Many things surprised, and some things perplexed her,as she came to know the family better. But she discreetly held hertongue, used her eyes, and did her best to please.

Mrs. Carrol seemed satisfied, often thanked her for her faithfulnessto Helen, but seldom visited her daughter, never seemed surprised orgrieved that the girl expressed no wish to see her; and, though herhandsome face always wore its gracious smile, Christie soon feltvery sure that it was a mask put on to hide some heavy sorrow from acurious world.

Augustine never came except when Helen was asleep: then, like ashadow, he passed in and out, always silent, cold, and grave, but inhis eyes the gloom of some remorseful pain that prayers and penancesseemed powerless to heal.

Harry came every day, and no matter how melancholy, listless, orirritable his sister might be, for him she always had a smile, anaffectionate greeting, a word of praise, or a tender warning againstthe reckless spirit that seemed to possess him. The love betweenthem was very strong, and Christie found a never-failing pleasure inwatching them together, for then Helen showed what she once hadbeen, and Harry was his best self. A boy still, in spite of hisone-and-twenty years, he seemed to feel that Helen's room was a saferefuge from the temptations that beset one of his thoughtless andimpetuous nature. Here he came to confess his faults and follieswith the frankness which is half sad, half comical, and whollycharming in a good-hearted young scatter-brain. Here he brought gaygossip, lively descriptions, and masculine criticisms of the worldhe moved in. All his hopes and plans, joys and sorrows, successesand defeats, he told to Helen. And she, poor soul, in this one happylove of her sad life, forgot a little the burden of despair thatdarkened all the world to her. For his sake she smiled, to him shetalked when others got no word from her, and Harry's salvation wasthe only duty that she owned or tried to fulfil.

A younger sister was away at school, but the others seldom spoke ofher, and Christie tired herself with wondering why Bella never wroteto Helen, and why Harry seemed to have nothing but a gloomy sort ofpity to bestow upon the blooming girl whose picture hung in thegreat drawing-room below.

It was a very quiet winter, yet a very pleasant one to Christie, forshe felt herself loved and trusted, saw that she suited, andbelieved that she was doing good, as women best love to do it, bybestowing sympathy and care with generous devotion.

Helen and Harry loved her like an elder sister; Augustine showedthat he was grateful, and Mrs. Carrol sometimes forgot to put on hermask before one who seemed fast becoming confidante as well ascompanion.

In the spring the family went to the fine old country-house just outof town, and here Christie and her charge led a freer, happier life.Walking and driving, boating and gardening, with pleasant days onthe wide terrace, where Helen swung idly in her hammock, whileChristie read or talked to her; and summer twilights beguiled withmusic, or the silent reveries more eloquent than speech, which realfriends may enjoy together, and find the sweeter for the mutecompanionship.

Harry was with them, and devoted to his sister, who seemed slowly tobe coming out of her sad gloom, won by patient tenderness and thecheerful influences all about her.

Christie's heart was full of pride and satisfaction, as she saw thealtered face, heard the tone of interest in that once hopelessvoice, and felt each day more sure that Helen had outlived the lossthat seemed to have broken her heart.

Alas, for Christie's pride, for Harry's hope, and for poor Helen'sbitter fate! When all was brightest, the black shadow came; when alllooked safest, danger was at hand; and when the past seemed buried,the ghost which haunted it returned, for the punishment of a brokenlaw is as inevitable as death.

When settled in town again Bella came home, a gay, young girl, whoshould have brought sunshine and happiness into her home. But fromthe hour she returned a strange anxiety seemed to possess theothers. Mrs. Carrol watched over her with sleepless care, wasevidently full of maternal pride in the lovely creature, and beganto dream dreams about her future. She seemed to wish to keep thesisters apart, and said to Christie, as if to explain this wish:

"Bella was away when Helen's trouble and illness came, she knowsvery little of it, and I do not want her to be saddened by theknowledge. Helen cares only for Hal, and Bella is too young to be ofany use to my poor girl; therefore the less they see of each otherthe better for both. I am sure you agree with me?" she added, withthat covert scrutiny which Christie had often felt before.

She could but acquiesce in the mother's decision, and devote herselfmore faithfully than ever to Helen, who soon needed all her care andpatience, for a terrible unrest grew upon her, bringing sleeplessnights again, moody days, and all the old afflictions with redoubledforce.

Bella "came out" and began her career as a beauty and a belle mostbrilliantly. Harry was proud of her, but seemed jealous of othermen's admiration for his charming sister, and would excite bothHelen and himself over the flirtations into which "that child" asthey called her, plunged with all the zest of a light-hearted girlwhose head was a little turned with sudden and excessive adoration.

In vain Christie begged Harry not to report these things, in vainshe hinted that Bella had better not come to show herself to Helennight after night in all the dainty splendor of her youth andbeauty; in vain she asked Mrs. Carrol to let her go away to somequieter place with Helen, since she never could be persuaded to joinin any gayety at home or abroad. All seemed wilful, blind, orgoverned by the fear of the gossiping world. So the days rolled ontill an event occurred which enlightened Christie, with startlingabruptness, and showed her the skeleton that haunted this unhappyfamily.

Going in one morning to Helen she found her walking to and fro asshe often walked of late, with hurried steps and excited face as ifdriven by some power beyond her control.

"Good morning, dear. I'm so sorry you had a restless night, and wishyou had sent for me. Will you come out now for an early drive? It'sa lovely day, and your mother thinks it would do you good," beganChristie, troubled by the state in which she found the girl.

But as she spoke Helen turned on her, crying passionately:

"My mother! don't speak of her to me, I hate her!"

"Oh, Helen, don't say that. Forgive and forget if she has displeasedyou, and don't exhaust yourself by brooding over it. Come, dear, andlet us soothe ourselves with a little music. I want to hear that newsong again, though I can never hope to sing it as you do."

"Sing!" echoed Helen, with a shrill laugh, "you don't know what youask. Could you sing when your heart was heavy with the knowledge ofa sin about to be committed by those nearest to you? Don't try toquiet me, I must talk whether you listen or not; I shall go franticif I don't tell some one; all the world will know it soon. Sit down,I'll not hurt you, but don't thwart me or you'll be sorry for it."

Speaking with a vehemence that left her breathless, Helen thrustChristie down upon a seat, and went on with an expression in herface that bereft the listener of power to move or speak.

"Harry has just told me of it; he was very angry, and I saw it, andmade him tell me. Poor boy, he can keep nothing from me. I've beendreading it, and now it's coming. You don't know it, then? YoungButler is in love with Bella, and no one has prevented it. Think howwicked when such a curse is on us all."

The question, "What curse?" rose involuntarily to Christie's lips,but did not pass them, for, as if she read the thought, Helenanswered it in a whisper that made the blood tingle in the other'sveins, so full of ominous suggestion was it.

"The curse of insanity I mean. We are all mad, or shall be; we comeof a mad race, and for years we have gone recklessly on bequeathingthis awful inheritance to our descendants. It should end with us, weare the last; none of us should marry; none dare think of it butBella, and she knows nothing. She must be told, she must be keptfrom the sin of deceiving her lover, the agony of seeing herchildren become what I am, and what we all may be."

Here Helen wrung her hands and paced the room in such a paroxysm ofimpotent despair that Christie sat bewildered and aghast, wonderingif this were true, or but the fancy of a troubled brain. Mrs.Carrol's face and manner returned to her with sudden vividness, sodid Augustine's gloomy expression, and the strange wish uttered overhis sleeping sister long ago. Harry's reckless, aimless life mightbe explained in this way; and all that had perplexed her throughthat year. Every thing confirmed the belief that this tragicalassertion was true, and Christie covered up her face, murmuring,with an involuntary shiver:

"My God, how terrible!"

Helen came and stood before her with such grief and penitence in hercountenance that for a moment it conquered the despair that hadbroken bounds.

"We should have told you this at first; I longed to do it, but I wasafraid you'd go and leave me. I was so lonely, so miserable,Christie. I could not give you up when I had learned to love you;and I did learn very soon, for no wretched creature ever needed helpand comfort more than I. For your sake I tried to be quiet, tocontrol my shattered nerves, and hide rny desperate thoughts. Youhelped me very much, and your unconsciousness made me doublywatchful. Forgive me; don't desert me now, for the old horror may becoming back, and I want you more than ever."

Too much moved to speak, Christie held out her hands, with a facefull of pity, love, and grief. Poor Helen clung to them as if heronly help lay there, and for a moment was quite still. But not long;the old anguish was too sharp to be borne in silence; the relief ofconfidence once tasted was too great to be denied; and, breakingloose, she went to and fro again, pouring out the bitter secretwhich had been weighing upon heart and conscience for a year.

"You wonder that I hate my mother; let me tell you why. When she wasbeautiful and young she married, knowing the sad history of myfather's family. He was rich, she poor and proud; ambition made herwicked, and she did it after being warned that, though he mightescape, his children were sure to inherit the curse, for when onegeneration goes free it falls more heavily upon the rest. She knewit all, and yet she married him. I have her to thank for all Isuffer, and I cannot love her though she is my mother. It may bewrong to say these things, but they are true; they burn in my heart,and I must speak out; for I tell you there comes a time whenchildren judge their parents as men and women, in spite of filialduty, and woe to those whose actions change affection and respect tohatred or contempt."

The bitter grief, the solemn fervor of her words, both touched andawed Christie too much for speech. Helen had passed beyond thebounds of ceremony, fear, or shame: her hard lot, her darkexperience, set her apart, and gave her the right to utter the baretruth. To her heart's core Christie felt that warning; and for thefirst time saw what many never see or wilfully deny, - the awfulresponsibility that lies on every man and woman's soul forbiddingthem to entail upon the innocent the burden of their owninfirmities, the curse that surely follows their own sins.

Sad and stern, as an accusing angel, that most unhappy daughterspoke:

"If ever a woman had cause to repent, it is my mother; but she willnot, and till she does, God has forsaken us. Nothing can subdue herpride, not even an affliction like mine. She hides the truth; shehides me, and lets the world believe I am dying of consumption; nota word about insanity, and no one knows the secret beyond ourselves,but doctor, nurse, and you. This is why I was not sent away, but fora year was shut up in that room yonder where the door is alwayslocked. If you look in, you'll see barred windows, guarded fire,muffled walls, and other sights to chill your blood, when youremember all those dreadful things were meant for me."

"Don't speak, don't think of them! Don't talk any more; let me dosomething to comfort you, for my heart is broken with all this,"cried Christie, panic-stricken at the picture Helen's words hadconjured up.

"I must go on! There is no rest for me till I have tried to lightenthis burden by sharing it with you. Let me talk, let me wear myselfout, then you shall help and comfort me, if there is any help andcomfort for such as I. Now I can tell you all about my Edward, andyou'll listen, though mamma forbade it. Three years ago my fatherdied, and we came here. I was well then, and oh, how happy!"

Clasping her hands above her head, she stood like a beautiful, paleimage of despair; tearless and mute, but with such a world ofanguish in the eyes lifted to the smiling picture opposite that itneeded no words to tell the story of a broken heart.

"How I loved him!" she said, softly, while her whole face glowed foran instant with the light and warmth of a deathless passion. "How Iloved him, and how he loved me! Too well to let me darken both ourlives with a remorse which would come too late for a just atonement.I thought him cruel then, - I bless him for it now. I had far ratherbe the innocent sufferer I am, than a wretched woman like my mother.I shall never see him any more, but I know he thinks of me far awayin India, and when I die one faithful heart will remember me."

There her voice faltered and failed, and for a moment the fire ofher eyes was quenched in tears. Christie thought the reaction hadcome, and rose to go and comfort her. But instantly Helen's hand wason her shoulder, and pressing her back into her seat, she said,almost fiercely:

"I'm not done yet; yon must hear the whole, and help me to saveBella. We knew nothing of the blight that hung over us till fathertold Augustine upon his death-bed. August, urged by mother, kept itto himself, and went away to bear it as he could. He should havespoken out and saved me in time. But not till he came home and foundme engaged did he have courage to warn me of the fate in store forus. So Edward tore himself away, although it broke his heart, andI - do you see that?"

With a quick gesture she rent open her dress, and on her bosomChristie saw a scar that made her turn yet paler than before.

"Yes, I tried to kill myself; but they would not let me die, so theold tragedy of our house begins again. August became a priest,hoping to hide his calamity and expiate his father's sin by endlesspenances and prayers. Harry turned reckless; for what had he to lookforward to? A short life, and a gay one, he says, and when his turncomes he will spare himself long suffering, as I tried to do it.Bella was never told; she was so young they kept her ignorant of allthey could, even the knowledge of my state. She was long away atschool, but now she has come home, now she has learned to love, andis going blindly as I went, because no one tells her what she mustknow soon or late. Mamma will not. August hesitates, remembering me.Harry swears he will speak out, but I implore him not to do it, forhe will be too violent; and I am powerless. I never knew about thisman till Hal told me to-day. Bella only comes in for a moment, and Ihave no chance to tell her she must not love him."

Pressing her hands to her temples, Helen resumed her restless marchagain, but suddenly broke out more violently than before:

"Now do you wonder why I am half frantic? Now will you ask me tosing and smile, and sit calmly by while this wrong goes on? You havedone much for me, and God will bless you for it, but you cannot keepme sane. Death is the only cure for a mad Carrol, and I'm so young,so strong, it will be long in coming unless I hurry it."

She clenched her hands, set her teeth, and looked about her as ifready for any desperate act that should set her free from the darkand dreadful future that lay before her.

For a moment Christie feared and trembled; then pity conquered fear.She forgot herself, and only remembered this poor girl, so hopeless,helpless, and afflicted. Led by a sudden impulse, she put both armsabout her, and held her close with a strong but silent tendernessbetter than any bonds. At first, Helen seemed unconscious of it, asshe stood rigid and motionless, with her wild eyes dumbly imploringhelp of earth and heaven. Suddenly both strength and excitementseemed to leave her, and she would have fallen but for the living,loving prop that sustained her.

Still silent, Christie laid her down, kissed her white lips, andbusied herself about her till she looked up quite herself again, butso wan and weak, it was pitiful to see her.

"It's over now," she whispered, with a desolate sigh. "Sing to me,and keep the evil spirit quiet for a little while. To-morrow, if I'mstrong enough, we'll talk about poor little Bella."

And Christie sang, with tears dropping fast upon the keys, that madea soft accompaniment to the sweet old hymns which soothed thistroubled soul as David's music brought repose to Saul.

When Helen slept at last from sheer exhaustion, Christie executedthe resolution she had made as soon as the excitement of that stormyscene was over. She went straight to Mrs. Carrol's room, and,undeterred by the presence of her sons, told all that had passed.They were evidently not unprepared for it, thanks to old Hester, whohad overheard enough of Helen's wild words to know that somethingwas amiss, and had reported accordingly; but none of them hadventured to interrupt the interview, lest Helen should be driven todesperation as before.

"Mother, Helen is right; we should speak out, and not hide thisbitter fact any longer. The world will pity us, and we must bear thepity, but it would condemn us for deceit, and we should deserve thecondemnation if we let this misery go on. Living a lie will ruin usall. Bella will be destroyed as Helen was; I am only the shadow of aman now, and Hal is killing himself as fast as he can, to avoid thefate we all dread."

Augustine spoke first, for Mrs. Carrol sat speechless with hertrouble as Christie paused.

"Keep to your prayers, and let me go my own way, it's the shortest,"muttered Harry, with his face hidden, and his head down on hisfolded arms.

"Boys, boys, you'll kill me if you say such things! I have more nowthan I can bear. Don't drive me wild with your reproaches to eachother!" cried their mother, her heart rent with the remorse thatcame too late.

"No fear of that; you are not a Carrol," answered Harry, with thepitiless bluntness of a resentful and rebellious boy.

Augustine turned on him with a wrathful flash of the eye, and awarning ring in his stern voice, as he pointed to the door.

"You shall not insult your mother! Ask her pardon, or go!"

"She should ask mine! I'll go. When you want me, you'll know whereto find me." And, with a reckless laugh, Harry stormed out of theroom.

Augustine's indignant face grew full of a new trouble as the doorbanged below, and he pressed his thin hands tightly together,saying, as if to himself:

"Heaven help me! Yes, I do know; for, night after night, I find andbring the poor lad home from gambling-tables and the hells wheresouls like his are lost."

Here Christie thought to slip away, feeling that it was no place forher now that her errand was done. But Mrs. Carrol called her back.

"Miss Devon - Christie - forgive me that I did not trust you sooner.It was so hard to tell; I hoped so much from time; I never couldbelieve that my poor children would be made the victims of mymistake. Do not forsake us: Helen loves you so. Stay with her, Iimplore you, and let a most unhappy mother plead for a most unhappychild." Then Christie went to the poor woman, and earnestly assuredher of her love and loyalty; for now she felt doubly bound to thembecause they trusted her.

"What shall we do?" they said to her, with pathetic submission,turning like sick people to a healthful soul for help and comfort.

"Tell Bella all the truth, and help her to refuse her lover. Do thisjust thing, and God will strengthen you to bear the consequences,"was her answer, though she trembled at the responsibility they putupon her.

"Not yet," cried Mrs. Carrol. "Let the poor child enjoy the holidayswith a light heart, - then we will tell her; and then Heaven help usall!"

So it was decided; for only a week or two of the old year remained,and no one had the heart to rob poor Bella of the little span ofblissful ignorance that now remained to her.

A terrible time was that to Christie; for, while one sister, blessedwith beauty, youth, love, and pleasure, tasted life at its sweetest,the other sat in the black shadow of a growing dread, and weariedHeaven with piteous prayers for her relief.

"The old horror is coming back; I feel it creeping over me. Don'tlet it come, Christie! Stay by me! Help me! Keep me sane! And if youcannot, ask God to take me quickly!"

With words like these, poor Helen clung to Christie; and, soul andbody, Christie devoted herself to the afflicted girl. She would notsee her mother; and the unhappy woman haunted that closed door,hungering for the look, the word, that never came to her. Augustinewas her consolation, and, during those troublous days, the priestwas forgotten in the son. But Harry was all in all to Helen then;and it was touching to see how these unfortunate young creaturesclung to one another, she tenderly trying to keep him from the wildlife that was surely hastening the fate he might otherwise escapefor years, and he patiently bearing all her moods, eager to cheerand soothe the sad captivity from which he could not save her.

These tender ministrations seemed to be blessed at last; andChristie began to hope the haunting terror would pass by, as quietgloom succeeded to wild excitement. The cheerful spirit of theseason seemed to reach even that sad room; and, in preparing giftsfor others, Helen seemed to find a little of that best of allgifts, - peace for herself.

On New Year's morning, Christie found her garlanding her lover'spicture with white roses and the myrtle sprays brides wear.

"These were his favorite flowers, and I meant to make my weddingwreath of this sweet-scented myrtle, because he gave it to me," shesaid, with a look that made Christie's eyes grow dim. "Don't grievefor me, dear; we shall surely meet hereafter, though so far asunderhere. Nothing can part us there, I devoutly believe; for we leaveour burdens all behind us when we go." Then, in a lighter tone, shesaid, with her arm on Christie's neck:

"This day is to be a happy one, no matter what comes after it. I'mgoing to be my old self for a little while, and forget there's sucha word as sorrow. Help me to dress, so that when the boys come upthey may find the sister Nell they have not seen for two longyears."

"Will you wear this, my darling? Your mother beads it, and she triedto have it dainty and beautiful enough to please you. See, your owncolors, though the bows are only laid on that they may be changedfor others if you like."

As she spoke Christie lifted the cover of the box old Hester hadjust brought in, and displayed a cashmere wrapper, creamy-white,silk-lined, down-trimmed, and delicately relieved by rosy knots,like holly berries lying upon snow. Helen looked at it without aword for several minutes, then gathering up the ribbons, with astrange smile, she said:

"I like it better so; but I'll not wear it yet."

"Bless and save us, deary; it must have a bit of color somewhere,else it looks just like a shroud," cried Hester, and then wrung herhands in dismay as Helen answered, quietly:

"Ah, well, keep it for me, then. I shall be happier when I wear itso than in the gayest gown I own, for when you put it on, this poorhead and heart of mine will be quiet at last."

Motioning Hester to remove the box, Christie tried to banish thecloud her unlucky words had brought to Helen's face, by chattingcheerfully as she helped her make herself "pretty for the boys."

All that day she was unusually calm and sweet, and seemed to yieldherself wholly to the happy influences of the hour, gave andreceived her gifts so cheerfully that her brothers watched her withdelight; and unconscious Bella said, as she hung about her sister,with loving admiration in her eyes:

"I always thought you would get well, and now I'm sure of it, foryou look as you used before I went away to school, and seem justlike our own dear Nell."

"I'm glad of that; I wanted you to feel so, my Bella. I'll acceptyour happy prophecy, and hope I may get well soon, very soon."

So cheerfully she spoke, so tranquilly she smiled, that all rejoicedover her believing, with love's blindness, that she might yetconquer her malady in spite of their forebodings.

It was a very happy day to Christie, not only that she wasgenerously remembered and made one of them by all the family, butbecause this change for the better in Helen made her heart sing forjoy. She had given time, health, and much love to the task, andventured now to hope they had not been given in vain. One thing onlymarred her happiness, the sad estrangement of the daughter from hermother, and that evening she resolved to take advantage of Helen'stender mood, and plead for the poor soul who dared not plead forherself.

As the brothers and sisters said good-night, Helen clung to them asif loth to part, saying, with each embrace:

"Keep hoping for me, Bella; kiss me, Harry; bless me, Augustine, andall wish for me a happier New Year than the last."

When they were gone she wandered slowly round the room, stood longbefore the picture with its fading garland, sung a little softly toherself, and came at last to Christie, saying, like a tired child:

"I have been good all day; now let me rest."

"One thing has been forgotten, dear," began Christie, fearing todisturb the quietude that seemed to have been so dearly bought.

Helen understood her, and looked up with a sane sweet face, out ofwhich all resentful bitterness had passed.

"No, Christie, not forgotten, only kept until the last. To-day is agood day to forgive, as we would be forgiven, and I mean to do itbefore I sleep," Then holding Christie close, she added, with aquiver of emotion in her voice: "I have no words warm enough tothank you, my good angel, for all you have been to me, but I know itwill give you a great pleasure to do one thing more. Give dear mammamy love, and tell her that when I am quiet for the night I want herto come and get me to sleep with the old lullaby she used to singwhen I was a little child."

No gift bestowed that day was so precious to Christie as the joy ofcarrying this loving message from daughter to mother. How Mrs.Carrol received it need not be told. She would have gone at once,but Christie begged her to wait till rest and quiet, after theefforts of the day, had prepared Helen for an interview which mightundo all that had been done if too hastily attempted.

Hester always waited upon her child at night; so, feeling that shemight be wanted later, Christie went to her own room to rest. Quitesure that Mrs. Carrol would come to tell her what had passed, shewaited for an hour or two, then went to ask of Hester how the visithad sped.

"Her mamma came up long ago, but the dear thing was fast asleep, soI wouldn't let her be disturbed, and Mrs. Carrol went away again,"said the old woman, rousing from a nap.

Grieved at the mother's disappointment, Christie stole in, hopingthat Helen might rouse. She did not, and Christie was about to leaveher, when, as she bent to smooth the tumbled coverlet, somethingdropped at her feet. Only a little pearl-handled penknife ofHarry's; but her heart stood still with fear, for it was open, and,as she took it up, a red stain came off upon her hand.

Helen's face was turned away, and, bending nearer, Christie saw howdeathly pale it looked in the shadow of the darkened room. Shelistened at her lips; only a faint flutter of breath parted them;she lifted up the averted head, and on the white throat saw a littlewound, from which the blood still flowed. Then, like a flash oflight, the meaning of the sudden change which came over her grewclear, - her brave efforts to make the last day happy, her tendergood-night partings, her wish to be at peace with every one, thetragic death she had chosen rather than live out the tragic lifethat lay before her.

Christie's nerves had been tried to the uttermost; the shock of thisdiscovery was too much for her, and, in the act of calling for help,she fainted, for the first time in her life.

When she was herself again, the room was full of people;terror-stricken faces passed before her; broken voices whispered,"It is too late," and, as she saw the group about the bed, shewished for unconsciousness again.

Helen lay in her mother's arms at last, quietly breathing her lifeaway, for though every thing that love and skill could devise hadbeen tried to save her, the little knife in that desperate hand haddone its work, and this world held no more suffering for her. Harrywas down upon his knees beside her, trying to stifle his passionategrief. Augustine prayed audibly above her, and the fervor of hisbroken words comforted all hearts but one. Bella was clinging,panic-stricken, to the kind old doctor, who was sobbing like a boy,for he had loved and served poor Helen as faithfully as if she hadbeen his own.

"Can nothing save her?" Christie whispered, as the prayer ended, anda sound of bitter weeping filled the room.

"Nothing; she is sane and safe at last, thank God!"

Christie could not but echo his thanksgiving, for the blessedtranquillity of the girl's countenance was such as none but death,the great healer, can bring; and, as they looked, her eyes opened,beautifully clear and calm before they closed for ever. From face toface they passed, as if they looked for some one, and her lips movedin vain efforts to speak.

Christie went to her, but still the wide, wistful eyes searched theroom as if unsatisfied; and, with a longing that conquered themortal weakness of the body, the heart sent forth one tender cry:

"My mother - I want my mother!"

There was no need to repeat the piteous call, for, as it left herlips, she saw her mother's face bending over her, and felt hermother's arms gathering her in an embrace which held her close evenafter death had set its seal upon the voiceless prayers for pardonwhich passed between those reunited hearts.

When she was asleep at last, Christie and her mother made her readyfor her grave; weeping tender tears as they folded her in the soft,white garment she had put by for that sad hour; and on her breastthey laid the flowers she had hung about her lover as a farewellgift. So beautiful she looked when all was done, that in the earlydawn they called her brothers, that they might not lose the memoryof the blessed peace that shone upon her face, a mute assurance thatfor her the new year had happily begun.

"Now my work here is done, and I must go," thought Christie, whenthe waves of life closed over the spot where another tired swimmerhad gone down. But she found that one more task remained for herbefore she left the family which, on her coming, she had thought sohappy.

Mrs. Carrol, worn out with the long effort to conceal her secretcross, broke down entirely under this last blow, and besoughtChristie to tell Bella all that she must know. It was a hard task,but Christie accepted it, and, when the time came, found that therewas very little to be told, for at the death-bed of the eldersister, the younger had learned much of the sad truth. Thusprepared, she listened to all that was most carefully and tenderlyconfided to her, and, when the heavy tale was done, she surprisedChristie by the unsuspected strength she showed. No tears, nolamentations, for she was her mother's daughter, and inherited thepride that can bear heavy burdens, if they are borne unseen.

"Tell me what I must do, and I will do it," she said, with the quietdespair of one who submits to the inevitable, but will not complain.

When Christie with difficulty told her that she should give up herlover, Bella bowed her head, and for a moment could not speak, thenlifted it as if defying her own weakness, and spoke out bravely:

"It shall be done, for it is right. It is very hard for me, becauseI love him; he will not suffer much, for he can love again. I shouldbe glad of that, and I'll try to wish it for his sake. He is young,and if, as Harry says, he cares more for my fortune than myself, somuch the better. What next, Christie?"

Amazed and touched at the courage of the creature she had fancied asort of lovely butterfly to be crushed by a single blow, Christietook heart, and, instead of soothing sympathy, gave her the solacebest fitted for strong natures, something to do for others. Whatinspired her, Christie never knew; perhaps it was the year ofself-denying service she had rendered for pity's sake; such devotionis its own reward, and now, in herself, she discovered unsuspectedpowers.

"Live for your mother and your brothers, Bella; they need yousorely, and in time I know you will find true consolation in it,although you must relinquish much. Sustain your mother, cheerAugustine, watch over Harry, and be to them what Helen longed tobe."

"And fail to do it, as she failed!" cried Bella, with a shudder.

"Listen, and let me give you this hope, for I sincerely do believeit. Since I came here, I have read many books, thought much, andtalked often with Dr. Shirley about this sad affliction. He thinksyou and Harry may escape it, if you will. You are like your motherin temperament and temper; you have self-control, strong wills, goodnerves, and cheerful spirits. Poor Harry is willfully spoiling allhis chances now; but you may save him, and, in the endeavor, saveyourself."

"Oh, Christie, may I hope it? Give me one chance of escape, and Iwill suffer any hardship to keep it. Let me see any thing before mebut a life and death like Helen's, and I'll bless you for ever!"cried Bella, welcoming this ray of light as a prisoner welcomessunshine in his cell.

Christie trembled at the power of her words, yet, honestly believingthem, she let them uplift this disconsolate soul, trusting that theymight be in time fulfilled through God's mercy and the saving graceof sincere endeavor.

Holding fast to this frail spar, Bella bravely took up arms againsther sea of troubles, and rode out the storm. When her lover came toknow his fate, she hid her heart, and answered "no," finding abitter satisfaction in the end, for Harry was right, and, when thefortune was denied him, young Butler did not mourn the woman long.Pride helped Bella to bear it; but it needed all her courage to lookdown the coming years so bare of all that makes life sweet toyouthful souls, so desolate and dark, with duty alone to cheer thethorny way, and the haunting shadow of her race lurking in thebackground.

Submission and self-sacrifice are stern, sad angels, but in time onelearns to know and love them, for when they have chastened, theyuplift and bless. Dimly discerning this, poor Bella put her hands intheirs, saying, "Lead me, teach me; I will follow and obey you."

All soon felt that they could not stay in a house so full of heavymemories, and decided to return to their old home. They beggedChristie to go with them, using every argument and entreaty theiraffection could suggest. But Christie needed rest, longed forfreedom, and felt that in spite of their regard it would be veryhard for her to live among them any longer. Her healthy natureneeded brighter influences, stronger comrades, and the memory ofHelen weighed so heavily upon her heart that she was eager to forgetit for a time in other scenes and other work.

So they parted, very sadly, very tenderly, and laden with good giftsChristie went on her way weary, but well satisfied, for she hadearned her rest.