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leave just yet, sir, if you don’t wish it. Sam and I have quarrelled.”

He looked up at her. He had hardly ever observed her before, though he had been frequently conscious of her soft presence in the room. What a kitten-like, flexuous, tender creature she wae! She was the only one of the servants with whom be came into immediate and continuous relation. What should he do if Sophy were gone?

Sophy did not go, bat one of the others did, and things proceeded quietly again.

When Mr, Twycott, the vicar, waa ill, Sophy brought up his meals to him, and she had no sooner left the room one day than he heard a noise on the etaire. She bad slipped down with the tray, and so twisted her foot that she could not stand. The village surgeon was called in; the vicar got better, but Sophy was incapacitated for along time; and she was informed that she must never again walk much or engage in any occupation which required her to stand long on her feet. As soon as she was comparatively well she spoke to him alone. Since she waa forbidden to walk and bustle about, and, indeed, could not do so, it became her duty to leave. She could very weil work at something sitting down, and she bad an aunt a seamatress.

The parson had been very greatly moved by what she had suffered on his account, and he exclaimed, “No, Sophy; lame or not lame, I cannot let you go. You must never leave me again.”

He came close to her, and, though she could never exactly tell how it happened, she became conscious of his lips upon her cheek. He then asked her to marry him. Sophy did not exactly love him, but she had a respect for him which almost amounted to veneration.