s a virtue on a par with faith and charity; while to appear at the
breakfast-table after the breakfast itself had already appeared thereon
was, in her eyes, as the sin of witchcraft.

"What is the matter?" asked Elisabeth, somewhat breathlessly. She had
run downstairs at full speed in order to enter the dining-room before
the dishes, completing her toilet as she fled; and she had only beaten
the bacon by a neck.

"Richard Smallwood has had a paralytic stroke. Christopher sent up word
the first thing this morning."

"Oh! I am so sorry. Mr. Smallwood is such a dear old man, and used to be
so kind to Christopher and me when we were little."

"I am very sorry, too, Elisabeth. I have known Richard Smallwood all my
life, and he was a valued friend of my dear father's, as well as being
his right hand in all matters of business. Both my father and uncle
thought very highly of Richard's opinion, and considered that they owed
much of their commercial success to his advice and assistance."

"Poor Christopher! I wonder if he will mind much?"

"Of course he will mind, my dear. What a strange child you are, and what
peculiar things you say! Mr. Smallwood is Christopher's only living
relative, and when anything happens to him Christopher will be entirely
alone in the world. It is sad for any one to be quite alone; and
especially for young people, who have a natural craving for
companionship and sympathy." Miss Farringdon sighed. She had spent most
of her life in the wilderness and on the mountain-tops, and she knew how
cold was the climate and how dreary the prospect there.

Elisabeth's eyes filled with tears, and her heart swelled with a strange
new feeling she had never felt before. For the first time in her life
Christopher (unconsciously on his part) made a direct appeal to her
pity, and her heart responded to the appeal. His perspective, from her
point of view, was suddenly changed; he was no longer the kindly,
easy-going comrade with whom she had laughed and quarrelled and made it
up again ever since she could remember, and with whom she was on a
footing of such familiar intimacy; instead, he had become a man standing
in the shadow of a great sorrow, whose solitary grief commanded her
respect and at the same time claimed her tenderness. All through
breakfast, and the prayers which followed, Elisabeth's thoughts ran on
this new Christopher, who was so much more interesting and yet so much
farther off than the old one. She