was not a person to indulge a useless and a selfish grief. She immediately considered what she could do for the comfort of all those who were abroad in the storm. She assisted her housekeeper in laying out a change of clothes for every one of them. She ordered food and refreshment to be set out ready on their return; but, most particularly, she thought of every thing which could be wanted to sooth and comfort her poor wet and shivering child when she should be brought in. She prepared the bath, the clothes, the bed, and the cordial.

When all was done, she returned to her solitary seat in the drawing-room. The violence of the storm had abated, but the lightning was still vivid, and the thunder continued to roll among the hills. Eleven o'clock struck. The trust and patience of Mrs. Seymour were severely tried. She covered her face with her hands, and sobbed aloud. At that moment, close beside her, within the open window, the sweet voice of her child, saying, "Don't cry, mamma; I'm come back!" made her start with surprise. She lifted up her head, and beheld the little girl, wet and cold, kneeling by her dog on the carpet. Instantly the overjoyed mother was kneeling beside them, and had

folded both Bessie and the dog in a long embrace.

Bessie sobbed as her mother called her by every name of endearment; and the dog licked the hand that held him, as if to ask pardon for his fault. Bessie at last spoke. "Don't cry, dear mamma. God took care of me and she stroked her mother's cheek with her chill hand. This recalled Mrs. Seymour to her duty. She rose up, and carried her trembling child to the kitchen, crying out, "She is come back-she is come home! Ring the great bell, Griffiths; ring the great bell!"

As the joyful peal resounded from hill to hill, it carried thankfulness to many heavy hearts that night; but long before the dispersed party were collected at home, poor Bessie was laid in her quiet bed, and her mother seated beside her. The housekeeper was to receive and to assist all those who came in, and no one was permitted to approach the room where the tired child lay. Mrs. Seymour, seeing the state of weakness and fatigue which Bessie was in, had prudently forborne to ask her any questions, or agitate her feelings by any further display of thankfulness or affection. She seated herself beside her, with a face of calm love, and held

each hand of her dear child in hers to comfort and reassure her. All that was spoken between them were these few words

"I am not frightened, mamma; but I cannot help trembling."

"No, my love; it is because you are tired." And then by and bye

"Don't go away, mamma; I like to have you with me. But does papa know?"

"Yes, my dear child, they all know now.. Go to sleep, and you will be better."

The composing draught which she had taken soon laid Bessie in a sound sleep; and then Mrs. Seymour gave up her seat to the servant, and went down stairs to congratulate her husband and sons upon the happy termination of their mutual anxieties. She was assailed with many enquiries of "Well, mother, where has she been?" and "How has she borne it?" and "How did Fidelle get to her again?" &c. none of which was she able to answer. Silvester and Richard were amazed to find that she had not so much as asked one question of their sister.

"Indeed, my dear boys," replied Mrs. Seymour, "I considered that I acted a wiser and kinder part in keeping silence. We shall hear it all in time; but considering Bessie's sensi

bility, and seeing in what a nervous state she was, I thought of nothing but keeping her mind as quiet as possible." Here Mrs. Seymour looked at her husband, as if hoping for his approbation. Mr. Seymour replied, "The satisfying of our curiosity is indeed of no consequence in comparison with the peace of mind of our dear child; and I do agree with you, that, in her peculiar situation, it is particularly desirable that such an accident should leave as light an impression as possible upon her mind. You would not wish to see your sister a victim to fear all her days, my dear boys? Remember what an increase of pleasure it is to her to be able to ramble about in the country by herself!"

Mrs. Seymour continued,-" I should even wish, if you approve of it, that to-morrow morning we should wait till we see what state Bessie is in on waking, before any of us remind her of the events of this awful night." Her husband replied, "Let it be so. Let nobody ask her any questions. Let her story come out in her own way, whenever she leads to it."

The boys could not help exclaiming against such a self-denying ordinance; and Richard said, that he was certain he never could have patience

to wait long. "Nay, my dear boy," said his mother, smiling upon him, "do not we all know that you are patience itself whenever Bessie's good is concerned?"

Mrs. Seymour now desired to hear from each the history of their search; and the conversation ended as it had begun, in vain conjectures as to the place where Bessie could have been concealed for so many hours.

The next morning Bessie continued asleep at a late hour; and her mother gave strict orders, that when she awoke, and while she rose, no questions should be asked her by her maid. When breakfast was nearly ended, the drawingroom door opened, and Bessie appeared with her usual calm, sweet expression of countenance. Her father, as usual, met her, and led her to her chair; and she made her accustomed morning salutation to each, and began her breakfast. Her own quiet face was singularly contrasted with the looks of curiosity, affection, and interest, which surrounded the table. But these, alas! she could not see.

Nobody spoke. Presently Mrs. Seymour made a remark on the flowers in the greenhouse, to which Mr. Seymour replied, and then all was silent again.

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