ance a little timidly. But Norton only looked at
her and smiled, and finally closed the question by taking her in his
arms and giving her two kisses this time. It was done without a bit of
shamefacedness on his part, and with the energy and the tenderness too
of affection. Matilda was extremely astonished and somewhat
discomposed; but the evident kindness excused the freedom, and on the
whole she found nothing to object. Norton opened the iron gate for her,
and she hurried off homewards without another word.

In a dream of pleasure she hurried along, feeling that Norton Laval was
a great gain to her, and that croquet was the most delightful of
amusements, and that all the weariness of the day's work was taken out
of her heart. She only regretted, as she went, that those poor people
in Lilac Lane had heard no reading; but she resolved she would go to
them to-morrow.

There is one time, however, for doing everything that ought to be done;
and if that time is lost, no human calculation can make sure a second
opportunity. Matilda was to find this in the case of Lilac Lane. The
next day weather kept her at home. The second day she was too busy to
go on such an expedition. The third was Sunday. And when Monday came,
all thoughts of what she had intended to do were put out of her head by
her mother's condition. Mrs. Englefield was declared to be seriously
ill.

The doctor was summoned. Her fever had taken a bad turn, he said. It
was a very bad turn; for after a few days it was found to be carrying
her swiftly to death's door. She was unable to see her children, or at
least unable to recognise and speak to them, until the very last day;
and then too feeble. And the Sunday when Matilda had expected to be
baptized, saw her mother's funeral instead.

Anne and Letitia came up from New York, but were obliged to return
thither immediately after the funeral; and the two younger girls were
left to their grief. It was well for them now that they, had plenty of
business, plenty of active work on hand. It was a help to Maria; after
a little it diverted her thoughts and took her out of the strain of
sorrow. And it was a help to Matilda, but in a more negative way. It
kept the child from grieving herself ill, or doing herself a mischief
with violent sorrow; it was no relief. In every unoccupied moment,
whenever the demands of household business left her free to do what she
would, the little girl bent beneath her burden of sorrow. Kneeli