things, and would make his honour Glentworth go parfitly wild."
Feeling as if madness had actually seized her, and that somewhere she must go, to some one she must speak, Helen ran down stairs, and was just desiring the cook to go to Lady Anne, when the door was opened by the boy to three men, who entered with the ease prerogative bestows, and their chief addressed Helen, assuring her "that they wouldn't make no noise, for they knew as how the ould lady was in a criticising sitivation, and might pop off all of a suddent."
Helen rushed past them, flew across the street, where the servant was taking in the "Times," and, pursuing her way to the library, where Mrs. Palmer was sitting at the breakfast-table, flung herself on her knees beside her, crying only—"Help me! help me! Dear Mrs. Palmer, I have only you in the world!—pray help me!"
Both her sympathizing neighbour and all who heard her (for, though she saw none, there were several present) had no doubt at all but that Lady Anne had died when only poor Helen was near, and felt for her exceedingly, and Mrs. Palmer, stooping over her, said tenderly—
