mine full up to the
brim with gold. Such a lot of people will be happy then."

"So they will," replied Rochester.

"And darlingest mother can have the beautiful place. Hasn't the new
place got a lovely name--Silverbel?"

"It sounds very pretty, Sibyl."

"And you will come to-morrow and see it, won't you?"

"Yes."

"And you will bring Lady Helen?"

"Your mother will bring Lady Helen."

"It's all the same," replied Sibyl. "Oh, I am so glad."

She talked a little longer, and then went upstairs.

Miss Winstead often spent Sunday with her friends. She was not in the
schoolroom now as Sibyl entered. Sibyl thought this was a golden
opportunity to write to her father. She sat down and prepared to write
a letter. This was always a somewhat laborious task. Her thoughts
flowed freely enough, but her hand could not wield the pen quite quick
enough for the eager thoughts, nor was her spelling perfect, nor her
written thoughts quite so much to the point as her spoken ones.
Nevertheless, it was full time for her father to hear from her, and
she had a great deal to say. She took a sheet of paper, dipped her pen
in the ink, and began:

"DARLINGIST FATHER,--Yesterday I picked a rose at Silverbel,
the place that mother wants us to have when you com bak
rich. Here's the rose for you. Pwaps it will be withered,
father, but its hart will be alive. Kiss it and think of
Sibyl. It's hart is like my hart, and my hart thinks of you
morning, noon, and night, evry night, father, and evry
morning, and allways, allways during the hole of the day.
It's most portant, father, that you should come back rich.
It's most solum nesesarey. I do so hope the mine will be
full up to the brim with gold, for if it is a lot of people
here will be made happy. Have you found the mine yet,
father, and is it ful to the brim of gold? You don't know
how portant it is. It's cos of Mr. and Mrs. Holman, father,
and their dusty broken toys, and cos of nursie and her
spectakles, and cos of one who wants to marry another one,
and I mustn't tell names, and cos of the big-wigs, father.
Oh, it is portant.

"Your lovin
"SIBYL."

"He'll understand," thought Sibyl; "he's wonderful for seeing right
through a thing, and he'll quite know what I mean by the 'heart of the
rose,'" and she kissed the rose passionately and put it inside the
letter, and