at home, in a state of open rebellion, with the lessons to learn which
she had _not_ learnt in the day.

"How shall you get on with them, Constance?" the Rev. William Yorke
inquired of her that same evening. "Have the weeds destroyed the good
seed?"

"Not quite destroyed it," replied Constance, though she sighed sadly as
she spoke, as if nearly losing heart for the task she had undertaken.
"There is so much ill to undo. Caroline is the worst; the weeds, with
her, have had longer time to get ahead. I think, perhaps, if I could
keep her wholly with me for a twelvemonth or so, watching over her
constantly, a great deal might be effected."

"If that anticipated living would fall in, which seems very far away in
the clouds, and you were wholly mine, we might have Caroline with us
for a time," laughed Mr. Yorke.

Constance laughed too. "Do not be impatient, or it will seem to be
further off still. It will come, William."

They had been speaking in an undertone, standing together at a window,
apart from the rest. Mr. Channing was lying on his sofa underneath the
other window, and now spoke to Mr. Yorke.

"You had a treat, I hear, at the meeting to-day?"

"We had, indeed, sir," replied Mr. Yorke, advancing to take a seat near
him. "It is not often we have the privilege of listening to so eloquent
a speaker as Dr. Lamb. His experience is great, and his whole heart was