ed at the miseries of the past few hours. Once more she
believed that success and victory would be hers, once more in her small
way she was ready to do or die. She believed absolutely in the holiness
of her mission. Love--love alone, simple and pure, was guiding her. She
gave no thought to after-consequences, she gave no memory to past events:
her object now was to rescue Nan, and she herself was nothing.

Annie had a fellow-feeling, a rare sympathy with every little child; but
no child had ever come to take Nan's place with her. The child she had
first begun to notice simply out of a naughty spirit of revenge, had
twined herself round her heart, and Annie loved Nan all the more dearly
because she had long ago repented of stealing her affections from Hester,
and would gladly have restored her to her old place next to Hetty's
heart. Her love for Nan, therefore, had the purity and greatness which
all love that calls forth self-sacrifice must possess. Annie had denied
herself, and kept away from Nan of late. Now, indeed, she was going to
rescue her; but if she thought of herself at all, it was with the
certainty that for this present act of disobedience Mrs. Willis would
dismiss her from the school, and she would not see little Nan again.

Never mind that, if Nan herself was saved. Annie was disobedient, but on
this occasion she was not unhappy; she had none of that remorse which
troubled her so much after her wild picnic in the fairies' field. On the
contrary, she had a strange sense of peace and even guidance; she had
confessed this sin to Mrs. Willis, and, though she was suspected of far
worse, her own innocence kept her heart untroubled. The verse which had
occurred to her two mornings before still rang in her ears:

"A soul which has sinned and is pardoned again."

The impulsive, eager child was possessed just now of something which men
call True Courage; it was founded on the knowledge that God would help
her, and was accordingly calm and strengthening.

Annie rose from her damp bed, and looked around her for a little stream
where she might wash her face and hands; suddenly she remembered that
face and hands were dyed, and that she would do best to leave them alone.
She smoothed out as best she could the ragged elf-locks which the gypsy
maid had left on her curly head, and then covering her face with her
hands, said simply and earnestly:

"Please, my Father in heaven, help me to find little Nan;" then