er sister did not obey, but, unable to stand longer, she went to a
chair at a distance. The uproar in the street continued for a quarter
of an hour, then by degrees passed on, the voice of the woman shrieking
foul abuse till remoteness stifled it. Lydia forced herself to keep
silence from good or ill; it was no use speaking the thoughts she had
till morning. Thyrza sat with her eyes fixed on vacancy; she was so
miserable, her heart had sunk so low, that tears would have come had
she not forced them back. More than once of late she had known this
mood, in which life lay about her barren and weary. She was very young
to suffer that oppression of the world-worn; it was the penalty she
paid for her birthright of heart and mind.

By midnight they were lying side by side, but no 'goodnight' had passed
between them. When Thyrza's gentle breathing told that she slept, Lydia
still lay with open eyes, watching the flicker of the street lamp upon
the ceiling, hearing the sounds that came of mirth or brutality in
streets near and far. She did not suffer in the same way as her sister;
as soon as she had gently touched Thyrza's unconscious hand love came
upon her with its warm solace; but her trouble was deep, and she looked
into the future with many doubts.

The past she could scarcely deem other than happy, though a stranger
would have thought it sad enough. Her mother she well remembered--a
face pale and sweet, like Thyrza's: the eyes that have their sad beauty
from foresight of death. Her father lived only a year longer, then she
and the little one passed into the charge of Mr. Boddy, who was paid a
certain small sum by Trent's employers, in consideration of the death
by accident. Then came the commencement of Mr. Boddy's misfortunes; his
shop and house were burnt down, he lost his limb in an endeavour to
save his property, he lost his wife in consequence of the shock. Dreary
things for the memory, yet they did not weigh upon Lydia; she was so
happily endowed that her mind selected and dwelt on sunny hours, on
kind looks and words which her strong heart cherished unassailably, on
the mutual charities which sorrow had begotten rather than on the
sorrow itself. Above all, the growing love of her dear one, of her to
whom she was both mother and sister, had strengthened her against every
trouble. Yet of late this strongest passion of her life had become a
source of grave anxieties, as often as circumstance caused her to look
beyond