er unlucky. I never saw any one like him for tumbling and
bumping himself and tearing his clothes.

After Harry had gone, Lindsay got out their stamp album and we amused
ourselves with it very well for more than an hour, as there were a good
many new stamps to put into their proper places. Then Kezia came in--

'Miss Helena,' she said, 'would you and Master Lindsay mind going into
the other room? I want to tidy this one up a little, I was so long
talking with you this morning that I dusted it rather hurriedly.'

We had made a litter, certainly, with the gum-pot and scraps of paper,
and cold water for loosening the stamps, but we soon cleared it up.

'Isn't it nearly tea-time?' I said.

'Yes, you shall have it as soon as Master Harry comes in,' said Kezia,
'it is all laid in the dining-room.'

'Oh, well,' said Lindsay, 'we won't do any more stamps this afternoon;
come along then, Helena, we'll tell each other stories for a change.'

'You may tell me stories,' I said--'and I'll try to listen,' I added to
myself, 'though I don't feel as if I could,' for as the day went on I
felt myself growing more and more frightened and uneasy. 'I wish Harry
would come in,' I said aloud, 'I think I should write to grandmamma
to-day.'

'He won't be long,' said Lindsay, 'Harry always keeps to his time,' and
then he began his stories. I'm afraid I don't remember what they were.
There were a great many 'you see's' and 'and so's,' but at another time
I daresay I would have found them interesting.

He was just in the middle of one, about a trick some of the boys had
played an undermaster at their school, when I heard the front door open
quietly and steps cross the hall. The steps were of more than one
person, though no one was speaking.

'Stop, Lindsay,' I said, and I sat bolt up in my chair and listened.

Whoever it was had gone into the drawing-room. Then some one came out
again and crossed to the kitchen.

'Can it be Harry?' I said.

'There's some one with him if it is,' said Lindsay.

I felt myself growing white, and Lindsay grew red with sympathy. He _is_
a very feeling boy. But we both sat quite still. Then the door opened
gently, and some one looked in, but it wasn't Harry, it was Kezia.

'Miss Helena, my love,' she said, 'there's some one in the drawing-room
who wants to see you.'

'Who is it?' I asked, breathlessly, but my old nurse shook her head.

'You'll see,' she said.

My heart began to beat with the hope--a