, and I took that for the blessing.

"I slept in the nursery with Lilly last night, in the very bed, I
believe, I used to sleep in; and when I knelt beside it, I could think
of no words to say but those of my little childish prayer, '_Now I lay
me down to sleep._' Was n't it strange?"

At this moment Lilly came dancing into the parlor, to claim her new
friend. The child was a dainty little thing, as restless and radiant
as a butterfly,--evidently a little spoiled, yet very charming.

The tears sprang to Mary's eyes, as her good friend rose to take leave.
She weighed down his memory with messages for the dear ones to whom he
was going; and, as he gave her his hand in parting, she lifted up her
sweet, ingenuous face, with a timid, grateful smile, and kissed him,
for the first time. She had never before felt that she had a social
position equal to his and dear Bessie's.

Mr. Phillips accompanied Mr. Raeburn to the station, and parted from
him with much regret and many heartfelt thanks and blessings.

A few days later there came to Mary letters from all her friends in
Berkshire,--letters of loving congratulation, most grateful to her
heart. One from Mr. Raeburn contained the intelligence that Patrick
Magee had been released from prison in a very solemn way. After a
terrible attack of delirium, he had fallen into a stupor, and died. So
that sinful and blinded soul had gone stumbling down the dark valley,
and forth into the unknown world, where neither human pity nor judgment
could reach him.

"O, I hope God forgave him at the last, as I forgive him," said Mary,
weeping.

"Why, sister Mary," said George Phillips, "you are n't crying for that
old reprobate, are you?"

"No, Georgie; only crying because nobody _can_ cry for him. You see,
Georgie dear, I have been wicked myself, and know how to pity the
erring."

"_You_ wicked, Mary! I suppose you have in your mind the few little
lies you told when you were the bound slave of that old Irish ogre and
his ogress. It's my opinion the angel that writes down things don't
make much account of such sins."

Day by day, Mary won her way to the inmost hearts of all the household.
Mrs. Phillips was especially interested in the young stranger, who
seemed so superior to her station,--who moved about so softly, and was
so careful and watchful. She loved to have her in her apartments, and
often sat and gazed at her, so mournfully, so searchingly, that Mary
longed inexpr