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ETHEL CHURCHILL.
301

yet, how often is it bestowed in vain! wasted, utterly and cruelly wasted! Well, if he loved me, there has been a sad and bitter sympathy between us. Can he have been more wretched than I have been?" and, covering her face with her hands, she gave way to a passionate burst of weeping.

It was so long before she recovered, that her chair was ready first: and, startled at the announcement, she hastened to ask her grandmother's permission for her visit. It was instantly granted; for Mrs. Churchill had always liked Walter, and had taken a personal satisfaction in his literary success. It was a compliment to her discernment. If ever we forgive another's celebrity, it is when it fulfils our own prophecy. But to have him, who had been a little child playing at her feet, dying in desolation and misery, roused every kindly feeling.

She hurried Ethel to put on her cloak, and saw herself to the packing up of a basket; containing one or two medicines in which she placed implicit faith, and a note from