an was absent,
and dreading alike his stay and his return, the colour forsook her
cheek, her eye grew dim, and her heart was oppressed and heavy. All
her old sorrows had come back upon her, augmented by new fears and
doubts; by day they were ever present to her mind; by night they
hovered round her pillow, and haunted her in dreams.

It was natural that, in the midst of her affliction, she should often
revert to that sweet young lady of whom she had only caught a hasty
glance, but whose sympathy, expressed in one slight brief action, dwelt
in her memory like the kindnesses of years. She would often think, if
she had such a friend as that to whom to tell her griefs, how much
lighter her heart would be--that if she were but free to hear that
voice, she would be happier. Then she would wish that she were
something better, that she were not quite so poor and humble, that she
dared address her without fearing a repulse; and then feel that there
was an immeasurable distance between them, and have no hope that the
young lady thought of her any more.

It was now holiday-time at the schools, and the young ladies had gone
home, and Miss Monflathers was reported to be flourishing in London,
and damaging the hearts of middle-aged gentlemen, but nobody said
anything about Miss Edwards, whether she had gone home, or whether she
had any home to go to, whether she was still at the school, or anything
about her. But one evening, as Nell was returning from a lonely walk,
she happened to pass the inn where the stage-coaches stopped, just as
one drove up, and there was the beautiful girl she so well remembered,
pressing forward to embrace a young child whom they were helping down
from the roof.

Well, this was her sister, her little sister, much younger than Nell,
whom she had not seen (so the story went afterwards) for five years,
and to bring whom to that place on a short visit, she had been saving
her poor means all that time. Nell felt as if her heart would break
when she saw them meet. They went a little apart from the knot of
people who had congregated about the coach, and fell upon each other's
neck, and sobbed, and wept with joy. Their plain and simple dress, the
distance which the child had come alone, their agitation and delight,
and the tears they shed, would have told their history by themselves.

They became a little more composed in a short time, and went away, not
so much hand in hand as clinging to each other. '