apart from economic or commercial reasons,
reform is needed in the coal-working of South
Wales?

SISTER ANNE.

IN FOUR CHAPTERS. CHAPTER III. (CONTINUED).

I NEVER look back to that time without
sorrow. It was a great trial for me to leave
my quiet home, cross the sea twice, and seek
an unwilling debtor in a strange land; but
I undertook it willingly, for his dear sake.
Neither that, nor the fatigue I underwent, nor
the tribulations— and they were many— which
awaited me, would now cost me a sigh, but
for other things which this ill-fated journey led
to. Ill-fated I call it, though I wonder if forty
thousand pounds were ever got back so easily
as I got ours. Monsieur Thomas had just died
when I arrived in Algiers, and as he was a
foundling by birth, the state was his only heir.
I set forth my claim, it was indisputable, and
was granted almost without contest, though not
without some delay. So far, surely, I had no
reason to complain. Everything was, or seemed
to be, over. Yet a strange presentiment of
coming misfortune, which I could not
conquer, induced me to send on the money beforehand.
A terrible storm overtook our boat the
day after we left Africa, and seemed destined
to justify my worst forebodings. Sea and sky
met in a darkness so fearful, that we could
scarcely see the white crests of the angry waves
roaring around us, as if eager to devour and
swallow us up. An agony like that of death
came over me. Oh! to see him again, my boy,
my darling— to see him once more, and then, if
it were God's will, to die; I remember that I
prayed thus, not once, but all the time the
storm lasted. When the sky cleared, and the
great waves fell and danger went by, I rejoiced,
thinking I had prevailed, and so I had, but I
little guessed at what cost.

In Paris I found a letter from my dear boy,
telling me not merely that the money had
reached him safely, but also that he had at once
secured our old home " on a long lease." It
was a great piece of folly, and I knew it, but I
could not be angry with him, do what I would.
He wrote so joyously, lie seemed so happy, so
hopeful! And, after all, we' were rich. Our
forty thousand pounds had been bearing fair
interest all these years, and of that interest,
owing to rare good fortune, we were not
defrauded. If we chose to shut up part of the
house and to be prudent, we could indulge
ourselves with sleeping once more beneath the old
roof. William's children might play by the
fountain where my father and Miss Græme had
found me reading long ago, and I might know
happy hours again within those dear and stately
rooms whence I had been banished so many
years. The thought made me happy, very
happy. I sat by the open window or my room
in the Hotel Meyerbeer. It was night, and
lights were burning brightly along the dark
avenues of the Champs Elysées; I heard the
roll of carriages, and every now and then
bursts of music and thunders of applause from
the cirque close by. I saw and heard all this,
but as in a dream. The reality was not the gay
scene I gazed on; it was that fair home to which
I was returning, as I thought, on the morrow.
That dear face, that kind voice, that warm
clasp and fond embrace which were to be mine
so soon, alone were real; the carriages, the
lights, the music, the sounds of the foreign
city were the dream. But it was not to be. I
had not felt quite well during my journey, and
I was very ill the next morning. The English
doctor I sent for told me at once that I had
brought fever with me from Africa. If it had
been possible for me to travel on I would have
done so, but I could not. All I could do was
to write to my brother, and telling him that
Paris was a very fascinating city, I bade him
not expect me just yet. I would not say more,
I would not alarm him, I would not bring him
from his new-found joy to my sick bed; but
the self-denial cost me very dear. I did not
know if my life was in danger. I only knew
that the thought of dying in a strange city, of
being laid amongst unknown dead, and, above
all, of never seeing my darling again, haunted
me night and day, like a perpetual nightmare.
Ah! what visions were with me as I lay there
looking at the light stealing in through the
grey persiennes, conning over the strange
furniture, listening to voices which, though kind,
were foreign, and pining for my own speech
and my own kindred in my own land! At
length the probation was over. I got well again,
and though the doctor said I was far too weak
to travel, I went, spite his warnings and grave
looks. This journey was safe, easy, and rapid;
I wonder if there was a happier heart than
mine when I reached our village, and, alighting
from the carriage that had brought me, I
passed through the open gates of our old home
and saw the fountain dancing in the red
sunlight which lit up the front of the house with a
deep gorgeous glow. No one, save a servant-girl,
came out to meet me. I did not wonder
at it; lest fatigue or illness should detain me,
I had not fixed the day of my return when I
wrote to my dear brother. But he was well,
quite well, the servant told me, and out in the
grounds walking. I would not let her go and
fetch him. I wished to seek him myself. My
heart beat with rapture, as, for the first time
after so many years, I found myself again in
these dear alleys, and saw the same flowers, it
seemed to me, that used to bloom there when
Miss Græme and I passed them hand-in-hand.
And I had helped to win all this back for her
son! The thought was very sweet. It was
enchanting, and paid me back tenfold for
fatigue, and danger, and sickness, and all I had
undergone. I walked very far, still seeking
my brother, but I could not find him; yet a
sound of voices lured and led me from path to
path, and alley to alley, till I turned back
disheartened. I had entered the lime-tree avenue,