herself could have made it, and yet to remain silent was to allow
melancholy thoughts to prey upon her. So thought the daughter, longing
at the same time that her persuasions were all unsaid.

"Come here, my dear child," said her mother presently, and Henrietta
almost started at the calmness of the voice, and the serenity of the
tranquil countenance. She crossed to her mother, and sat down on a low
footstool, leaning against her. "You are very much afraid for me,"
continued Mrs. Langford, as she remarked upon the anxious expression of
her face, far different from her own, "but you need not fear, it is all
well with me; it would be wrong not to be thankful for those who are
not really lost to me as well as for those who were given to me here."

All Henrietta's consideration for her mother could not prevent her from
bursting into tears. "O mamma, I did not know it would be so like
going away from dear grandmamma."

"Try to feel the truth, my dear, that our being near to her depends on
whether we are in our duty or not."

"Yes, yes, but this place is so full of her! I do so love it! I did
not know it till now!"

"Yes, we must always love it, my dear child; but we are going to our
home, Henrietta, to your father's home in life and death, and it must
be good for us to be there. With your grandfather, who has wished for
us. Knight Sutton is our true home, the one where it is right for us
to be."

Henrietta still wept bitterly, and strange it was that it should be she