to be impossible. Curiosity caused them to leave some their beds and some their employments, and hasten towards the spot, and they arrived in time to meet two sturdy fellows bearing a girl's form up the beach. Death was written on her rigid face, her brown hair trailed on the stones; and thus they bore her into Elizabeth Vandereck's cottage.

For half an hour it was whispered in Eastweir that the young Methodist widow Vandereck had a corpse in her house, and that house was soon beset by neighbours, anxious to do their best for the assistance of the widow, though still more anxious to satisfy their curiosity.

At the end of that time came Elizabeth Vandereck herself to the door, with a child in each arm and tears in her kind eyes:

"I thank the Lord, neighbours," said she; "the damsel is not dead, but sleepeth."

CHAPTER II.

A GOOD SAMARITAN.

LIFE and life's misery had, indeed, come back to the unhappy girl.

She knew it had been brought to her by kind unfamiliar hands; and the first glance she gave her good Samaritan was so full of gratitude to the giver and sick loathing for the gift, that the young widow's tears began to trickle fast down her ruddy cheeks.

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Why do you cry?" she was asked, with vague. surprise.

"Ah laws, this world!" said the widow, lifting her apron to her eyes; "how blind! for sure, we do grope about, always forgetting that we poor human creatures are all kith and kin together, till death reminds us when he lays his hand on some stranger, and all of a sudden one's heart is

of a tremble, as if the Almighty Father had said to one for the first time, This is thy brother or thy sister. Ah! what a sorrow there is in us then! What wouldn't we do to save the poor soul that's a-going?"

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‘You—saved—me," murmured the girl.

"God answered my prayers," Elizabeth Vandereck said, with a sunny smile on her broad face.

"I wish I had died-oh, I wish I had died!" was the response, with sudden passion; "and then you, at least, would have wept for me."

Elizabeth bent her simple, earnest eyes upon her. She was wise of heart as well as kind, that gentle mother; and seeing how full was the stranger's cup of bitterness, perceived that even a kind word would overflow it; so she refrained, and turned away to busy herself with the breakfast. But good as was the young widow's heart, it yet had a full share of womanly curiosity; and while she moved about she could not help wondering much as to the strange and forlorn con

dition of one so young and fair. Who could she be? Somehow Elizabeth, by a certain instinct, felt sure she was of her own station, in spite of the good clothes and the one or two rich trinkets she wore-in spite, too, of the soft, refined accent which her quick ear soon detected.

"Perhaps she is some good-for-naught," thought the widow. "Then, Elizabeth Vandereck," she added, in her heart, "do you be not too curious, lest you find it out, and have to turn her from your door before she is well able to stand."

When she came and bent down by the sofa with some warm bread and milk, her guest was unable to raise her head. Her hands were cold as ice, her lips and brows burning hot.

Elizabeth set down the cup and bent over her with great concern. The girl's feeble, pathetic smile of gratitude went to her heart, and moved it still more than the sight of her sickness had done.

"Poor soul!" said she; "it makes me sad to see you look like that as you'd never had a kind act done by you. Ah laws, this world!”

"And you-you won't be kind to me much longer," sobbed the girl, with brimming eye and husky voice, "when you hear where I come from and who I am."

door

"I am glad you have told me so,” answered the widow; "for in that case I shall shut my against all news-bringers till you are better. When one's own ignorance is another's comfort, it is better, sure, than wisdom. I can't answer for myself how I might take it if I heard ill of you; for-ah laws, this world!-I am a lone woman, and have but my good name to look to." ·

"But they will tell you vile, vile things of me."

Hush, poor soul! Do not sob like that. I will hear nothing, I say, while you lie so white and sick."

"But I must myself tell you"

"Nothing," said Elizabeth, and smiled, as she