marred her happiness, the sad estrangement of the daughter from her
mother, and that evening she resolved to take advantage of Helen's
tender mood, and plead for the poor soul who dared not plead for
herself.

As the brothers and sisters said good-night, Helen clung to them as
if loth to part, saying, with each embrace:

"Keep hoping for me, Bella; kiss me, Harry; bless me, Augustine, and
all wish for me a happier New Year than the last."

When they were gone she wandered slowly round the room, stood long
before the picture with its fading garland, sung a little softly to
herself, and came at last to Christie, saying, like a tired child:

"I have been good all day; now let me rest."

"One thing has been forgotten, dear," began Christie, fearing to
disturb the quietude that seemed to have been so dearly bought.

Helen understood her, and looked up with a sane sweet face, out of
which all resentful bitterness had passed.

"No, Christie, not forgotten, only kept until the last. To-day is a
good day to forgive, as we would be forgiven, and I mean to do it
before I sleep," Then holding Christie close, she added, with a
quiver of emotion in her voice: "I have no words warm enough to
thank you, my good angel, for all you have been to me, but I know it
will give you a great pleasure to do one thing more. Give dear mamma
my love, and tell her that when I am quiet for the night I want her