can't see why you should be here; you could have run in to your mother."

The child only cried more; and as it seemed impossible to get any explanation of such strange behaviour, Mr. Dunn asked no further questions, but taking her hand began to walk homewards. Before, however, they had gone far, they met the doctor's carriage, which was quickly stopped at sight of them, and Mr. Grant put his head out of the window to speak. "The child is a good deal injured," he said; "but she will get round with careful nursing. It was a bad fall.”

"I know nothing about it," replied Mr. Dunn, "except that my little one here was so frightened that I met her running past the cottages on the green."

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Grant, whose busy mind was full of something else, and who never even glanced at poor Red Rose standing downcast and tear-stained. "You will hear Good-bye," and

all about it at the house. away he went.

We may imagine that was anything but a pleasant walk to this unhappy little girl, who had such real cause for sorrow. First of all, she felt so keenly every unkindness she had

been guilty of, every angry word spoken to her cousin in the terrible minute when she thought White Rose was dead-it seemed as if she could never be happy again, never forgive herself.

Still, I am not able to tell you that there was also within her heart a resolve to own how much she had been in fault, to acknowledge that it was her hand which had caused the fall which might have ended so very seriously. "I did not mean to hurt her," was her own self-justification. "How could I know that a little tiny push would make her fall down that long flight of steps, and hurt herself so badly? Why, I did not even see how near she was standing to the edge!"

She succeeded so far in comforting herself. that she ceased crying. Still, she presented a very miserable appearance when her father led her into the room where White Rose lay in bed, with her mother and aunt sitting near.

"Has she told them? will she tell?" said. the little culprit's uneasy conscience; ah! there was no fear of any disclosures coming from such pale lips, for the injured child lay speechless, and still only partly conscious of anyone's presence.

"Rosie! where have you been?" said Mrs. Dunn, coming towards her. "The servants

have looked all about the two gardens in vain, and one of them is seeking you still."

"I found her not far from the pond on the green," interposed Mr. Dunn. "She was crying with fear, poor little girl. I suppose she ran away because her cousin's fall terrified her."

The kind tone in which he said, "Poor little girl," set Red Rose crying afresh; and when both her mother and aunt began comforting her by saying that her little companion would be well and strong by-and-by, she became still more distressed, so that all thought, "How much these two children really love one another!"

As nothing could be done for Rose Clare except that which quiet and nursing would bring about, the best thing was to leave her with her mother; so Mr. and Mrs. Dunn went away with their own unhappy little daughter, whose grief they thought was only occasioned by seeing an accident which was indeed enough to alarm any older person at the moment.

Under this impression they did all they

could think of to divert the child's mind from the subject; they petted and made much of her, and could not understand why it was she continued so very sorrowful.

"Is White Rose sure to get well?" was the last question she put when it was really bedtime; and her mother kissed her fondly, and told her exactly what Mr. Grant the doctor thought, and that in two or three weeks she might hope to be with her playmate as usual. "And now we shall have no more 'Wars of the Roses' surely," suggested Mr. Dunn. "You see how much you do love your cousin, notwithstanding all the squabbling, and I fancy you will never disagree again after this."

Red Rose was making this good resolution in her own heart as she lay in bed, for she was not sleepy; but not much peace came from it. Do you understand why? It was because there was something to do besides resolve for the future; there ought first to have been such a complete sorrow for all the past that she could not rest until she had told the extent of her fault, and that once done she would have felt as if a great burden was taken away.

Silly little girl! There she lay open-eyed

and sleepless,—one moment resolving to call her mother and tell the whole story, another moment saying, "I cannot! I cannot!"

When Mrs. Dunn came to bid her the last good-night she usually found Red Rose in a deep calm sleep, but to-night when she drew close to the little white bed a pair of dark eyes met her own with an anxious glance in them she had never seen before. "My darling, you must not fret like this," she said, fondly. "We shall have you poorly next, and that will make everything worse."

Mother, I am so unhappy!" said the faltering voice; and then I think the truth was very nearly coming out, but again the evil temptation within checked the better feeling, and she stopped short and hid her face in the pillow.

Any little girl who knows the misery of a "secret from mother," will be able to understand how every kiss and caress and fond word with which Mrs. Dunn tried to comfort her only added to the weight at Red Rose's heart. When she was left at last with an injunction to "go to sleep soon," she would gladly, gladly, have obeyed; but it was impossible. Just as if it had been a picture