rs dashing so madly about
the vessel's side.

CHAPTER XXI.

A NEW LIFE.

"NEW YORK, December 16th.
"To Miss HELEN LENNOX, Silverton, Mass.:

"Your sister is very ill. Come as soon as possible.

"W. CAMERON."

This was the purport of a telegram received at the farmhouse toward the
close of a chill December day, and Helen's heart almost stopped its
beating as she read it aloud, and then looked in the white, scared faces
of those around her. Katy was very ill--dying, perhaps--or Wilford had
never telegraphed. What could it be? What was the matter? Had it been
somewhat later, they would have known; but now all was conjecture worse
than useless, and in a half-distracted state Helen made her hasty
preparations for the journey on the morrow, and then sent for Morris,
hoping he might offer some advice or suggestion for her to carry to that
sickroom in New York.

"Perhaps you will go with me," Helen said. "You know Katy's
constitution. You might save her life."

But Morris shook his head. If he was needed they might send and he would
come, but not without; and so next day he carried Helen to the cars,
saying to her, as they were waiting for the train: "I hope for the best,
but it may be Katy will die. If you think so, tell her. Oh, tell her! of
the better world, and ask if she is prepared. I cannot lose her in
heaven."

And this was all the message Morris sent, though his heart and prayers
went after the rapid train which bore Helen safely onward, until
Hartford was reached, where there was a long detention, so that the
dark wintry night had closed over the city ere Helen had reached it,
timid, anxious, and wondering what she should do if Wilford was not
there to meet her. "He will be, of course," she kept repeating to
herself, looking around in dismay, as passenger after passenger left,
seeking in stages and street cars a swifter passage to their homes.

"I shall soon be all alone," she said, feeling some relief as the car in
which she was seated began at last to move, and she knew she was being
taken whither the others had gone, wherever that might be.

"Is Miss Helen Lennox here?" sounded cheerily in her ears as she stopped
before the depot, and Helen uttered a cry of joy, for she recognized the
voice of Mark Ray, who was soon grasping her hand, and trying to
reassure her, as he saw how she shrank from the noise and clamor of New
York, heard now for the first time. "Our carriage is here," he said, and