s the shepherd's warning!'" cried Vixen, with dry
lips. "Thank God there will be rain to-day! Welcome change after the
hot arid skies, and the cruel brazen sun, mocking all the miseries of
this troubled earth."

She felt almost as wildly glad as the Ancient Mariner, at the idea of
that blessed relief; and then, by-and-by, with the changeful light
shining on her face, she fell into a deep sleep.

Perhaps that morning sleep saved Vixen from an impending fever. It was
the first refreshing slumber she had had for a week--a sweet dreamless
sleep. The breakfast-bell rang unheeded. The rain, forecast by that red
sky, fell in soft showers upon the verdant isle, and the grateful earth
gave back its sweetest perfumes to the cool, moist air.

Miss Skipwith came softly in to look at her charge, saw her sleeping
peacefully, and as softly retired.

"Poor child! the initiation has been too much for her unformed mind,"
she murmured complacently, pleased with herself for having secured a
disciple. "The path is narrow and rugged at the beginning, but it will
broaden out before her as she goes on."

Violet awoke, and found that it was mid-day. Oh, what a blessed relief
that long morning sleep had been. She woke like a creature cured of
mortal pain. She fell on her knees beside the bed, and prayed as she
had not often prayed in her brief careless life.

"What am I that I should question Thy justice!" she cried. "Lord, teach
me to submit, teach me to bear my burden patiently, and to do some good
in the world."

Her mood and temper were wondrously softened after a long interval of
thought and prayer. She was ashamed of her waywardness of
yesterday--her foolish unreasonable passion.

"Poor Rorie, I told him to keep his promise, and he has obeyed me," she
said to herself. "Can I be angry with him for that? I ought to feel
proud and glad that we were both strong enough to do our duty."

She dressed slowly, languid after the excitement of yesterday, and then
went slowly down the broad bare staircase to Miss Skipwith's parlour.

The lady of the manor received her with affectionate greeting, and had
a special pot of tea brewed for her, and insisted upon her eating some
dry toast, a form of nourishment which this temperate lady deemed a
panacea in illness.

"I was positively alarmed about you last night, my dear," she said;
"you were so feverish and excited. You read too much, for the first
day."

"I'm afraid I did," assented Vixen,