is true, but she was delicate, and wanted Minna's rosy cheeks and sunny smile; and the boys, though merrylooking and brave, were certainly not handsome.

Margaret's devotion to Minna had, however, a much better foundation than mere vanity. Her mother, always delicate, had from the time of Bessie's birth been almost unable to do more than take care of herself and the sickly child, whom she did not like to leave to a young and inexperienced maid; for this reason Mrs. Raymond had, as Margaret said, confided Minna to her care; and Margaret, who joined with much decision of character strong feelings both of duty and affection, had allowed these to find their centre in Minna, whom she loved with all the depth and concentration of a mind such as hers.

"Margaret is old for her age," Honoria remarked to her husband during their drive home, "and she has a character that would, I am sure, interest me very much, if I knew it better."

"Yes," replied Lord Fortrose," she is not a common person; indeed, that is a term that cannot be applied to any of the family. I fear, however, that things go hardly with your uncle. Mrs. Raymond and her youngest child are evidently very delicate, and even a doctor's bill must be an extra expense they will find it difficult to meet. Those boys, too, must be an anxiety, now they are of an age to be sent to school. Could we not assist them without hurting Mr. Raymond ?"

"I wish we could indeed, and I really think we might. I have a plan already; but as it requires much reflection, I shall not tell you yet what it is.”

History tells us not how long Lady Fortrose reflected upon her plan before she divulged it, nor how long she

argued on its merits before she obtained her lord's consent; suffice it to say, that she paid two or three more visits to her uncle's house during the next month, and about a week after one of these visits, during which she had made further progress in the good graces both of Minna and Margaret, Mr. Raymond received a letter, which he read to his wife when the children were gone to bed, when a long and earnest conversation ensued.

"If I were sure it would be for her good," said Mrs. Raymond, "I would say, Yes; and with Honoria I cannot but feel she will be safe; but then, is it good for a child to be separated from her parents? Yet we cannot educate her properly, and Honoria will, and she would not let her forget us; then her sisterspoor Margaret! it will break her heart; but she is working her strength away, striving to do more than she can, and Rhoda and Frank are always upon her, and she will be glad to have poor dear Minna well provided for-yet it does seem so dreadful to let her go, poor darling! There is Bessie, though; I hardly know which way to turn to get proper clothing for them both; and, indeed, when Mr. Watts said in the winter that Bessie ought to be warmly dressed, and go out every day, I went to get them some out-of-doors things, and I saw what would have been the very thing for Bessie; but when I asked the price, it was for her alone, exactly all I had to spend for the two, so I could not get it; and this will go on. What are we to do as they grow older? To rich people one

child makes no difference; but to us, where every six

pence is a consideration

debt, Francis."

!

We cannot run into

"We must not," said Mr. Raymond; "but can we, or must we sell our child ?"

A long silence succeeded this harrowing question. Mrs. Raymond cried bitterly for some time. At last she said

"If we refuse, shall we not be sacrificing our children's interest to our own feelings? You know it was only yesterday you told me you could not send Harry to school unless we parted with one of the maids. Now, if Minna goes, that can be done. one child less to watch and work for, Margaret and I could manage without Susan, and Harry can then go."

With

Still Mr. Raymond was silent. He knew his wife's arguments were reasonable, but he was not weighing them. He was a man who took in the whole of a subject almost at the first glance, and now he saw in Honoria's proposal to adopt Minna, a miserable and humbling alternative, between the sorrow, and doubtful justice, of giving his child away, and the utter impossibility of educating his family without incurring the debts he dreaded. He therefore gave no opinion on his wife's arguments; there was nothing to say. Last night he was at his wit's-end; to-day there was an opening of hope-an offer of help;-if it was not wrong, he must accept it. He prayed for light; he earnestly commended his child to the Father who never would forsake her, and he told his wife to break it to Margaret as soon as she could. Minna must go. "Minna! Oh! mamma, not Minna! you cannot mean it. Oh ! think so now, you but you cannot, you will not do it. What shall we do without her?

Do

you really mean it, and does papa? I cannot believe it. How can I bear it? Because of being poor? but

poor people keep their children, and are happy, and I will work for her and for all."

"Yes, dear, I know that well, for you do already more than I wish to leave to your share; but, Margaret, a good will may do much, but not all—at least, not always; and you know how difficult we find it to educate any of you as you should be educated, and this is a yet more important consideration than those I have already placed before you."

For Mrs. Raymond had prepared Margaret for the strange news by enumerating all the pecuniary difficulties that surrounded them, ending with the too often vainly-repeated assertion, that "something must be done." "You have, I know, often wished it were possible to give Minna the advantages to which you think she will hereafter do credit, and now the opportunity is offered; all that money can obtain will, you know, be within her reach, and she will be cared for in the best and tenderest way. You can trust her to Honoria, can you not, Margaret ?" added Mrs. Raymond, as her daughter remained silent.

Margaret could not speak. Her mother could talk, could reason calmly on parting with a child-yes! for she had others—but Margaret; to her Minna was at once the sunshine and the object of her life-her interest was Margaret's work, her pleasure Margaret's play-she felt as if a dark cloud had suddenly overshadowed her whole future; but there sat her mother awaiting a reply. Margaret looked and saw tears in her eyes. Hastily restraining her own sobs, she murmured

"I suppose it is right," kissed her mother's cheek, and left the room,

It may be thought strange that in such a case a mother's feelings should not be more painfully acute than those of a sister, but I am only writing the strict truth, and I believe it is more in the character than in the relationship that such differences take their rise.

Mrs. Raymond was an amiable woman, possessing a clear judgment, and a gentle, patient temper; but not a person of deep or intense feeling, and incapable of realizing the force of character and power of loving that lay concealed beneath her daughter's quiet exterior. She knew that Margaret was very fond of Minna, and thought it but natural, as the child was so constantly with her, and so much in her charge; but she did not know or appreciate the strong flow of affection which that deep full heart poured out upon her little darling. Feeling intuitively that her mother had not leisure to enter into and sympathise with her feelings, Margaret had grown gradually into a habit of reserve, rendered the more impenetrable by a calm and equal cheerfulness of manner, which, except in minds well used to the study of character, would have prevented all suspicion that depths yet unexplored lay below. Thus isolated in mind, Margaret had not found, as a child, any object on which to rest the strong desire to love that filled her heart; her mother, though feeling the happiness of spiritual religion herself, was utterly devoid of the capacity of imparting such blessings to her children. She taught her children to serve God, but she could not accustom them to love him. Thus Margaret had felt a want, and longed for an object to fill the void, and Minna had become that long-wished-for blessing, and now she must lose her!