e as she read it.

Fearing to make them unhappy at home, yet desiring to have them prepared
for whatever might happen to her, the letter had cost Christie a great
deal of anxious thought. One thing was plain enough to all; she was
very ill and a little despondent, and longed above all things to see
Effie and get home again. The elder sister having read it all, laid it
down without speaking.

"Effie, my dear," said Aunt Elsie, "you will need to go."

"Yes; I must go. How I could have contented myself all this time,
knowing she might be ill, I am sure I cannot tell. My poor child!"

Mrs Nesbitt looked at her anxiously, as she said: "My dear bairn, you
have nothing to reproach yourself with. You have had a very anxious
summer, what with one care and another."

Effie rose with a gesture of impatience, but sat down again without
speaking. She blamed herself severely; but what was the use of speaking
about it now? She took up Christie's letter and read again the last
sentence.

"It grieves me to add to your burdens, Effie. I hoped to be able to
lighten them, rather. But such is not God's will, and He sees what is
best for us all. I do so long to see you again--to get home. But I
must have patience."

"Have patience!" she repeated aloud. "Oh, poor child! To think of her
lying there all these weary months! How can I ever forgive myself!"

She rose from the table hastily. Oh, how glad she would have been to go
to her that very moment. But she could not, nor the next day either.
There were many things to be considered. They were too dependent on her
school to permit her to give it up at once. Some one must be found to
take her place during her absence. Sarah must be sent for at the
neighbouring village, where she had been staying for the last month.
The children and Aunt Elsie must not be left alone. There were other
arrangements to be made, too, and two days passed before Effie was ready
to go.

She saw Mrs Nesbitt again before she went, and her kind old friend said
to her some of the things she had meant to say that night when the
letters were read. She was able to hear them now. They would have done
no good in the first moments of her sorrow, as Mrs Nesbitt very well
knew.

"Effie, my bairn," said she, gravely, "you have trouble enough to bear
without needlessly adding to it by blaming yourself when you ought not.
Even if you had known all, you could not have gone to your sister,
except in th