en already sent to orphanages; others were boarded out
till places could be found for them; and the Sisters had taken
charge of two.

Then one widow was to 'do for' the Vicar, who had taken solitary
possession of the Vicarage, but would soon be joined there by one or
more curates. He had been inducted into the ruinous chancel of the
poor old church, had paid the architect of the Rat-house fifty
pounds (a sum just equalling the proceeds of the bazaar) to be rid
of his plans; had brought down a first-rate architect; and in the
meantime was working the little iron church vigorously.

"Everything seems to be beginning there just as I go into exile!"
said Mrs. Duncombe. "It seems odd that I should have to go from
what I have only just learnt to prize. But you have taught mo a
good deal--"

"Every one must have learnt a good deal," said Herbert wearily. "If
one only has!"

"I meant you yourself, and that is what I came to thank you for.
Yes, I did; even if you don't like to hear it, your sister does, and
I must have it out. I shall recollect you again and again standing
over all those beds, and shrinking from nothing, and I shall hold up
the example to my boys."

"Do hold up something better!"

"Can you write?" she said abruptly.

"I have written a few lines to my mother."

"Do you remember what you said that night, when you had to hold that
poor man in his delirium, and his wife was so wild with fright that
she could not help?"

"I am not sure what you mean."

"You said it three or four times. It was only--"

"I remember," said Herbert, as she paused; "it was the only thing I
could recollect in the turmoil."

"Would it tire you very much to write it for me in the flyleaf of
this Prayer-Book that Mr. Charnock has given me?"

Herbert pulled himself into a sitting posture, and signed to his
sister to give him the ink.

"I shall spoil your book," he said, as his hand shook.

"Never mind," she said, eagerly, "the words come back to me whenever
I think of the life I have to face, and I want them written; they
soothe me, as they soothed that frightened woman and raving man."

And Herbert wrote. It was only--'The Lord is a very present help in
trouble.'

"Yes," she said; "thank you. Put your initials, pray. There--thank
you. No, you can never tell what it was to me to hear those words,
so quietly, and gravely, and strongly, in that deadly struggle. It
seemed to me, for the first time in all my life