and weariness creeping over her, but she could not overcome it; and it was often almost more than she could do to walk the mile and a half which lay between her cottage and the Hall. Then she caught cold, and had a hollow cough, and a pain in her side, which she in her innocence and bravery called a 'stitch;' and so began to be seriously ill, as every one who looked at her could see. Even Mrs. Hunter, who at first called it affectation and nonsense and sundry other things of the same moral standard, even she was forced to allow of the excuse which came one day, 'too ill to leave my bed, but hope to be better soon:' while Mr. Hunter almost groaned, as he said between his teeth, 'I wish she would die! it would be the best thing that could happen to her!'

And so poor Georgie broke down at last, and the wolf that had been so long kept away from the frail door now put his black paws into the gap which her failing health had made; and soon it seemed that not only his paws but his whole gaunt body would come through. The people were very kind-very kind indeed, at first. They sent her wine and jelly, and good things which she could not eat: and on some days she was overloaded, and on others almost starving: but, however kind people may be, this desultory manner of nursing an invalid is not very satisfactory; besides, even the most generous get tired of doing kindnesses to the same person after a time-unless, indeed, they can establish a sort of individual right of patronage, and then they will go on swimmingly for as long as the world knowsand all more or less believe in fairy godmothers, who supply good gifts unseen in the gracious secrecy of

the night. All these, and more phases than these, the Brough Bridge people went through during little Georgie's illness; but she bore up through it all with her own sweet patience, and never once felt that 'Faithful and True,' which had brought her to this was aught but a talisman and a blessing.

'And even if he is dead,' said Georgie weeping, I would rather live as I do now, true to his memory and to be his wife in heaven, than have any amount of riches from any other man.' At which Charley Dunn, to whom she said this, wept too, and taking her hand kissed it as if he had been a Catholic kissing a relic, saying earnestly, 'God bless you! you are the best and dearest little woman in this world!'

Before the spring came round again, Georgie Fenton was justified in her faith. In the cold winter night came a hurried knock at her little door, and a stranger, snowclad, and with the frost-rime hanging round his beard and hair, entered her small room where she lay on a couch beside the fire, as white as the snowdrifts outside. She started and cried out as the tall, rough-looking stranger dashed aside the little servant at the door and strode in as one with authority; but she cried out no more when he took her up in his arms from off the couch, and held her to his heart whispering her name. It was Roger-now her Roger, her own, for life and death, for time and eternity-come back as he had promised, and as she had believed and lived for. 'Faithful and True' both of them had been; and now their day of recompense had come: such as ever comes to truth and fidelity, to courage and to constancy, to honour and to love!

E. L. L.