"I don't think they thought I was a burden," said poor

"I will try not to be, And I know they would

Phillis, her eyes filling with tears. and I will help them all I can. not have said they liked to have me if they did not mean it; they never said what they did not mean."

"Never mind, my dear," said her uncle; "it will be all right, I don't doubt, and I am sure they will be delighted at your return, for they were very unwilling to part with you. Now you had better run away to Julia; she is waiting for you upstairs."

"Then you are not angry with me?" asked Phillis wistfully.

"No, child," he answered, kissing her forehead; "I believe we made a mistake about taking you away, after all, but I at least have been pleased to have you, for I was anxious to make up for my past neglect."

"Never mind that now," said Phillis softly. "Though I did not want to come here, and though I am very glad to go back to Earlesmere, I have often been very happy here, and I am very glad to have had those masters. And you

will promise to come and see me some day, and bring Julia with you?"

"Very well," said Mr. Armfield, smiling; "some day, perhaps, when I find time;" and Phillis went away comforted.

Her aunt's anger was very disagreeable, certainly, but as no one else was angry with her, she did not mind so very much, and in the pleasure of writing to Mrs. Overton next day all troublesome thoughts were forgotten. She awaited an answer with feverish impatience; it was two days' post to Earlesmere, so she could not hear for some days; but the letter came at last, and Phillis knew it by heart before she laid it aside.

It left no doubt at all in her mind as to the welcome her old friends would give her; the joy her letter had given

them was clearly seen, and over and over again the old lady repeated how glad they would be to see their child again— it seemed as though she had felt as if she could not write it often enough.

But one thing in the letter perplexed Phillis rather; it shewed surprise as well as gladness at her wish to return, and Phillis did not see at all why they should be surprised, when she told them so often that she would be sure not to stay with her cousins any longer than the stipulated three years.

However that did not matter now; they could explain everything when once she got back. She felt almost wild with delight at the prospect. It was then Friday, and Mrs. Armfield decided that she should go on the following Tuesday, that being the first day which would be convenient. Not a day longer than was necessary should a girl of so ungrateful a disposition remain in her house!

CHAPTER XXIX.

"Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home;
Thou art not my friend, I am not thine."

-RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

THE news of Phillis's approaching departure created some little surprise and excitement among the many acquaintances she had made. She had been a general favourite, and all were sorry to lose her, Judge Laurence especially.

"So you will run away, will you, Miss Phillis?" he said, as they walked home from church together on her last Sunday evening. "I shall look you up again some day, you'll see, and get you to take me for some more walks. But you are off in such a hurry; how is that?"

"Mrs. Armfield thinks it better I should go soon," said Phillis, colouring a little; "it will be most convenient next week. But they have known that I should very likely be going about this time, so it is not so very sudden after all." "You will be missed," said the judge. "What will your cousin Julia do? She will be lonely with no sister at home."

"What are you saying about me?" asked Julia, joining them. "Oh, I shall find something to do, I suppose, and get through life as I have always done. Phillis, Florence

and Eustace are waiting to bid you farewell. They will be out all to-morrow, so they won't see you again."

"Good-bye, then," said the judge; "we shall hear of you sometimes, no doubt. God bless you, my child." And giving her a warm shake of the hand, the judge moved away, leaving Phillis to receive Lord and Lady Exmoor's last words.

She was glad when all the farewells were over, and she and Julia walked on alone.

"Next Sunday, I suppose," said Julia, "you will be listening to the soul-stirring strains poured forth by the doctor's fingers on your little organ. He will be getting up some splendid piece all the week to electrify you with."

"No he won't," said Phillis; "he doesn't often play on Sundays. Julia, I wish you would go to church every Sunday evening. Didn't you like it to-night?"

"Yes," said Julia; "but I dare say I shan't feel inclined to go next Sunday. I went to please you to-night. Phillis, what makes you so good?"

"I'm not good," said Phillis, flushing a little, "but I hope I do try to be, because I want to be where papa and mamma and Eddie are some day, and you know there is only one way."

Julia looked sober.

"I don't know the way," she said gravely; "how do you find it, Phillis?"

"I try to love Jesus as they did," answered Phillis simply. "He is the way. Oh, Julia, I wish you would try too! And I wish you would promise me to go to church every Sunday evening with uncle. It is such a help."

"I don't mind," said Julia, hesitating a little. "Well, I will promise, just for your sake. You seem happy enough, certainly, but I don't think I could be ever like you. Perhaps

I'll try."

Phillis was busy packing next day, and Julia hovered

1

round her, making a pretence of helping, though her tongue did far more work than her fingers. At last, as Phillis was tying up her portfolio, the last thing before dinner, Julia astonished her by suddenly bursting into a passionate flood of tears.

"What is the matter?" asked Phillis anxiously. "You are not well, Julia?"

"I don't know," said Julia sobbing; "no, I don't believe I am. It's been thundery all day, and that sort of weather always upsets me."

Thundery!" said Phillis in astonishment.

"Why,

Julia, there has been quite a fresh wind all day, and it was almost cold on the pier! What do you mean Julia made no answer for some minutes; then she burst forth :

"I don't know what I mean! I never did, and I never shall. I believe I shall die of meaninglessness some day!" And dashing away her tears, she added: "I wish you weren't going away. I have felt so horrid sometimes lately, and it does me good to look at you."

"Horrid!" said Phillis. "But what makes you feel so? I know something is the matter with you. Won't you tell

me what it is?"

"No," said Julia, "because I don't know myself. I'm very stupid, that's all. You needn't mind anything I say, because I don't mean half of it. Phillis, if anything happens, mind you send for me to Earlesmere directly."

"I told you you might come when you liked," said Phillis. "They will let you, I know. But what do you think is going to happen?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Julia; "anything might, I suppose. For instance, you may fall into a river some day, and be on the point of drowning when the doctor plunges in gallantly and saves you. In that case I shall expect to be invited immediately to come and nurse you."