Heaven with piteous prayers for her relief.

"The old horror is coming back; I feel it creeping over me. Don't
let it come, Christie! Stay by me! Help me! Keep me sane! And if you
cannot, ask God to take me quickly!"

With words like these, poor Helen clung to Christie; and, soul and
body, Christie devoted herself to the afflicted girl. She would not
see her mother; and the unhappy woman haunted that closed door,
hungering for the look, the word, that never came to her. Augustine
was her consolation, and, during those troublous days, the priest
was forgotten in the son. But Harry was all in all to Helen then;
and it was touching to see how these unfortunate young creatures
clung to one another, she tenderly trying to keep him from the wild
life that was surely hastening the fate he might otherwise escape
for years, and he patiently bearing all her moods, eager to cheer
and soothe the sad captivity from which he could not save her.

These tender ministrations seemed to be blessed at last; and
Christie began to hope the haunting terror would pass by, as quiet
gloom succeeded to wild excitement. The cheerful spirit of the
season seemed to reach even that sad room; and, in preparing gifts
for others, Helen seemed to find a little of that best of all
gifts,--peace for herself.

On New Year's morning, Christie found her garlanding her lover's
picture with white roses and the myrtle sprays brides wear.

"These were his favorite flowers, and I meant to make my wedding
wreath of this sweet-scented myrtle, because he gave it to me," she