aused Bessie to abandon her intention of pulling his ears.

'That's Jane,' she said. 'Come in!'

The Jane who presented herself was so strangely unlike her namesake who
lay ill at Mrs. Peckover's four months ago, that one who had not seen
her in the interval would with difficulty have recognised her. To begin
with, she had grown a little; only a little, but enough to give her the
appearance of her full thirteen years. Then her hair no longer
straggled in neglect, but was brushed very smoothly back from her
forehead, and behind was plaited in a coil of perfect neatness; one
could see now that it was soft, fine, mouse-coloured hair, such as
would tempt the fingers to the lightest caress. No longer were her
limbs huddled over with a few shapeless rags; she wore a full-length
dress of quiet grey, which suited well with her hair and the pale tones
of her complexion. As for her face--oh yes, it was still the good,
simple, unremarkable countenance, with the delicate arched eyebrows,
with the diffident lips, with the cheeks of exquisite smoothness, but
so sadly thin.

Here too, however, a noteworthy change was beginning to declare itself.
You were no longer distressed by the shrinking fear which used to be
her constant expression; her eyes no longer reminded you of a poor
animal that has been beaten from every place where it sought rest and
no longer expects anything but a kick and a curse. Timid they were,
drooping after each brief glance, the eyes of one who has suffered and
cannot but often brood over wretched memories, who does not venture to
look far forward lest some danger may loom inevitable--meet them for an
instant, however, and you saw that lustre was reviving in their still
depths, that a woman's soul had begun to manifest itself under the
shadow of those gently falling lids. A kind word, and with what purity
of silent gratitude the grey pupils responded! A merry word, and mark
if the light does not glisten on them, if the diffident lips do not
form a smile which you would not have more decided lest something of
its sweetness should be sacrificed.

'Now come and tell me what you think about baby,' cried Bessie. 'Will
he do? Don't pay any attention to my husband; he's a vulgar man!'

Jane stepped forward.

'I'm sure he looks very nice, Mrs. Byass.'

'Of course he does, bless him! Sam, get your coat on, and brush your
hat, and let Miss Snowdon teach you how to behave yourself. Well, we're
going to leave the ho