she must have been the most excellent, sensible, clever, kind, charming
person that ever lived.'

'So Mrs. Staunton says,' replied Helen; 'she used to tell me that I was
a good deal like her, and should be more so; but I do not think she
would have said so, if she had seen you. I am so slow and so dull, and
so unlike to you in your quick active ways.'

'Do you know, Helen,' said Elizabeth, who had been pursuing her own
thoughts, rather than listening to her sister's words, 'I do believe
that we should all have been more like her if she had lived; at least,
I am sure I should.'

Helen did not answer; and Elizabeth continued in her usual rapid
manner, 'I do not mean to lay all my faults at Mamma's door, for I
should have been much worse without her, and I have spurned away most
of the good she would have done me in her kind gentle way; but I do
believe no one but my own mother ever knew how to manage me. You never
were so wild, Helen, and you will do far far better.'

'O Lizzie, what do you mean?' cried Helen.

'I mean, my dear Helen,' exclaimed Elizabeth, hardly knowing what she
was saying, 'that I have been using you shamefully ever since you came
home. I have done nothing but contradict you, and snap at you, whether
right or wrong; and a pretty spectacle we must have made of ourselves.
Now I see that you have twice the sense and understanding that I have,
and are so unpretending as to be worth a hundred times more. I wish
with all my heart that I had taken your advice, and that the Mechanics'
Institute was at the bottom of the sea.'

Before Helen had recovered from her astonishment at this incoherent
speech, sufficiently to make any sort of reply, the rest of the party
were seen returning from St. Austin's, and Winifred and Edward hastened
towards the two sisters, to tell them all the wonders they had seen.

During the remainder of that day, a few words in her mother's feeble
voice rung in Elizabeth's ears more painfully even than the text she
had mentioned the day before. It was, 'Lizzie, I know you will be a
kind sister to Kate and poor little Helen.'

In the course of the evening, Lady Merton found Anne and Helen alone
together in the drawing-room. Helen was reclining on the sofa, in a
dreamy state, her book half closed in her hand, and Anne was sitting at
the window, reading as well as she could by the failing light.

'So you are alone here,' said Lady Merton, as she entered the room.

'Yes,' said