young lady, who thus inquired, was Catherine Melvin, who was then making an early breakfast before a noble blazing fire. "Has the woman brought her bill," asked Mrs. Danvers. "I will go and ask," said the servant. "Stay, ask her to come up. I should like to inquire how she is getting along this cold weather." Reynolds obeyed, and soon Lettice found herself in a warm, comfortable breakfast room. "Good morning," said Mrs. Danvers. "I am sorry you have had such a cold walk this morning. I am sorry you could not come last night. This young lady is just leaving, and there is barely time to put up the things." Catherine (for this was the young lady's name,) had her back turned to the door quietly continuing her breakfast, but when the gentle voice of Lettice replied: "Indeed, madam, I beg your pardon, I did my very best"--Catherine started, looked up, and rose hastily from her chair--Lettice, advancing a few steps, exclaimed "Catherine." And Catherine exclaimed--"It is--it is you!" and coming forward and taking her by the hand, she gazed with astonishment at the wan face and the miserable attire of the work-woman. "You," she kept repeating. "Lettice! Lettice Arnold! Good Heavens! Where is your father? your mother? your sister?" "Gone," said the poor girl, "all gone but poor Myra!" "And where is she? And you, dear Lettice, how have you come to this?"

Such was the unexpected meeting of these two persons, who were once children of the same village of Castle Rising. Lettice had been working for her school-mate, Catherine Melvin. The result was a happy one, and it was not long before, by the kindness of Catherine, that the two orphan girls were situated pleasantly in life. But as you will wish to know how all this came about, I will give you the circumstances in another story.

THE EXPLANATION.

Lettice's father was a man of education, a scholar, a gentleman, and had much power in preaching. He received one hundred and ten pounds per year for his services. Her father's illness was long and painful, and the family were dependent on others for assistance. "We at last closed his eyes," said Lettice, "in deep sorrow." He used to say to himself, "It is a rough road, but it leads to a good place." After his funeral, the expenses exhausted all that was left of their money--only a few pounds were left when the furniture was sold, and "we were obliged," said Lettice, "to give up the dear little parsonage. It was a sweet little place. The house was covered all over with honeysuckles and jessamines; and there was the flower garden in which I used to work, and which made me so hale and strong, and aunt Montague used to say I was worth a whole 

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