et had no satisfaction in this or in anything
that concerned them. She was out of her element. Things were quite
different from anything she had been used with. She grew depressed and
doubtful of herself, and no wonder that a gloom was gathering over her.

Some thought of all this came into Graeme's mind, as she sat watching
her while she gathered together the brands with unsteady hands, and with
the thought came a little remorse. She had been thinking little of
Janet and her trials all these days she had been passing so pleasantly
with her books, in the corner of her father's study. She blamed herself
for her thoughtlessness, and resolved that it should not be so in
future. In the mean time, it seemed as though she must say something to
chase the shadow from the kind face. But she did not know what to say.
Janet set down the tongs, and raised herself with a sigh. Graeme drew
nearer.

"What is it, Janet?" asked she, laying her hand caressingly on hers.
"Winna you tell me?"

Janet gave a startled look into her face.

"What is what, my dear?"

"Something is vexing you, and you winna tell me," said Graeme,
reproachfully.

"Hoot, lassie! what should ail me. I'm weel enough."

"You are wearying for a letter, maybe. But it's hardly time yet,
Janet."

"I'm no wearyin' the night more than usual. And if I got a letter, it
mightna give me muckle comfort."

"Then something ails you, and you winna tell me," said Graeme again, in
a grieved voice.

"My dear, I hae naething to tell."

"Is it me, Janet? Hae I done anything? You ken I wouldna willingly do
wrong?" pleaded Graeme.

Janet put her fingers over the girl's lips.

"Whist, my lammie. It's naething--or naething that can be helpit," and
she struggled fiercely to keep back the flood that was swelling in her
full heart. Graeme said nothing, but stroked the toil-worn hand of her
friend, and at last laid her cheek down upon it.

"Lassie, lassie! I canna help it," and the long pent up flood gushed
forth, and the tears fell on Graeme's bent head like rain. Graeme
neither moved nor spoke, but she prayed in her heart that God would
comfort her friend in her unknown sorrow; and by the first words she
spoke she knew that she was comforted.

"I am an auld fule, I believe, or a spoiled bairn, that doesna ken it's
ain mind, and I think I'm growing waur ilka day," and she paused to wipe
the tears from her face.

"But what is it, Janet?" asked Graeme, soft