hrow my
arms around you, and find a pillow on your sisterly breast."

She looked pleadingly, wistfully at Mittie, while tears glittered in her
soft, earnest eyes.

"Foolish, foolish child!" cried Mittie, setting down the lamp
petulantly, and tossing her night-dress on the bed--"stay where you are,
but do not inflict too much sentiment on me--you know I never liked it."

"No," said Helen, thoughtfully, "I might disturb you, and perhaps if I
once conquer my timidity, I shall be victor for life. I should like to
make the trial, and I may as well begin to-night as any time. I do not
wish to be troublesome, or intrude my company on any one."

Helen's gentle spirit was roused by the arbitrary manner in which Mittie
had treated her, and she found courage to act as her better judgment
approved. She was sorry she had pleaded so earnestly for what she might
have claimed as a right, and resolved to leave her sister to the
solitude she so much coveted.

With a low, but cold "good night," she glided from the apartment, closed
the door, passed through the passage, entered a lonely chamber, and
kneeling down by the bedside, prayed to be delivered from the bondage of
fear, and the haunting phantoms of her own imagination. When she laid
her head upon the pillow, she felt strong in the resolution she had
exercised, glad that she had dared to resist her own weak, irresolute
heart. She drew aside the window curtains and let the stars shine down
brightly on her face. How could she feel alone, with such a glorious
company all round and about her? How could she fear, when so many
radiant lamps were lighted to disperse the darkness? Gradually the quick
beating of her heart subsided, the moistened lashes shut down over her
dazzled eyes, and she slept quietly till the breaking of morn. When she
awoke, and recalled the struggles she had gone through, she rejoiced at
the conquest she had obtained over herself. She was sure if Arthur
Hazleton knew it, he would approve of her conduct, and she was glad that
she cherished no vindictive feelings towards Mittie.

"She certainly has a right to her preferences," she said; "if she likes
solitude, I ought not to blame her for seeking it, and I dare say my
company is dull and insipid to her. I must have seemed weak and foolish
to her, she who never knew what fear or weakness is."

As she was leaving her room, with many a vivid resolution to conquer her
besetting weaknesses, her step-mother entered, un