ver to us when--I mean if anything happens to Mrs. McAravey?--she
cannot live long, poor old body."

"Oh, you are too kind!" cried Elsie, fairly bursting into tears, and
hiding her face on her new friend's shoulder--"you are too kind; but
how can I promise? It sometimes seems my duty to stay here."

Eleanor More was a true woman, and so--though surprised at this sudden
outbreak--she lifted the girl's head between her hands, and kissing her
forehead, said, "There, Elsie, child, don't fret, I will not press you
now. God will show you your duty, and make your way plain before you.
They are coming now, and the carriage is at the door."

CONCLUSION.

The summer had waned away; the autumn tints were already on the trees,
and the light of the September afternoon was growing feeble and
uncertain, as a dainty little figure scrambled out of the low carriage
that had drawn up before the neatest and most ideal of English cottage
homes. Lady Eleanor More stood at the garden wicket to receive her
friend, and behind her in the doorway was to be seen a tidy,
white-capped little old woman.

"So we have got you at last, Elsie; and here is the prison where you
are to be confined at hard labour, and this is your gaoler, Mrs.
Nugent. How do you like it all?"

Elsie was delighted, and could find no words in which to thank her kind
patron. Everything was charming, and everything had been arranged with
that thoughtful consideration which nothing but real affection produce.

The old man and woman with whom Elsie was to be lodged, for the present
at least, were established pensioners of the Waterham family. They had
known and sorrowed for Elsie's mother, who had stayed with them for a
few weeks after her unfortunate marriage. Thus the orphan felt almost
at home, and was rejoiced to find that a little room had been set apart
for her private and special use.

Nor was it designed that Elsie should become a mere dependent.
Fortunately enough a vacancy had recently occurred (by marriage) in the
mistress-ship of a small school situated close to the gate of Burnham
Park, and almost opposite Nugent's cottage. This was the sphere of
labour for which Elsie was destined. The school was a neat,
well-cared-for place--the special hobby of Lady Eleanor, who seldom let
a day pass when at home without visiting it. Here Elsie Damer at once
commenced her labours. The children were bright and clean, and had
evidently been carefully taught by her