" The other children, who had often heard this story, did not listen to it with great interest, but went on with their various plays, leaving Emily and Dotty standing together before Emily's baby-house.

If we are lost like babes in the woods there are plenty of redbreasts to cover us with leaves," and Randal joined Emily's laugh, with a glance at Saul, who had just pulled his coat off.

Happily for Emily's blushes, the old gentleman harbored the most fastidious notions of female delicacy, and never in conversation made the most distant allusion to the expected connexion.

EMILY'S GRAVE Idly one day in a foreign town In a churchyard's shade I sat me down By the side of a little cross of stone On which was a woman's name alone.

"You, I should have known from Clarence's descriptionyou are his little Birdie?" She did not replyher lip quivered, and she pressed Emily's hand and kissed her.

* * EMILY'S MORNING RAMBLE.

And then, as his thoughts detached themselves, he remembered Emily's tears.

But seeing the tears on Emily's cheeks, she sat down beside her, and said, 'Dearest Emily, if you would only confide in me!' 'There's nothing to confide....'

She thought she would speak to the lady, and with tender sympathy she asked, "Was it your child?" The lady, who was deep in thought, looked up at the sound of Emily's earnest voice, and answered, softly, "Yes; 'Dear Mina' was my only child."

It may be said that Haworth was by no means Charlotte's home as it was Emily's.

Again we have an impression of an age of exile, but really the exile did not last long, not much longer than Emily's imprisonment in the Academy for Young Ladies, nothing like so long as Anne's miserable term.

Some of Emily's dated from her first exile at Roe Head.

As Emily died of Branwell's death, so Emily's death hastened Anne's.

Anne must have been fascinated, and at the same time appalled, by the radiant, revealing, annihilating sweep of Emily's thought.

These three Brontës, adoring each other, were intolerant of any other influence; and the strongest spirit, which was Emily's, prevailed.

You feel that Emily's genius inspired her with a kind of sacred terror.

But, for height and depth of supernatural attainment, there is no comparison between Emily's grip of divine reality and poor Anne's spasmodic and despairing clutch; and none between Charlotte's piety, her "God willing"; "I suppose I ought to be thankful", and Emily's acceptance and endurance of the event.

No doubt Mr. Shorter found them in Emily's handwriting; but how could he, how could he mistake Anne's voice for Emily's?

It is, perhaps, a little ungrateful and ungracious to say these things, when but for Mr. Shorter we should not have had Emily's complete poems at all.

Emily's psychology here is perforce half on the unearthly plane; it is above our criticism, lending itself to no ordinary tests.

There are two inscriptions on the back: "The Wearin' of the Green; First since Emily's death"; and below: "This drawing is by P. Héger, done from life in 1850."

So the blot was wiped off her scutcheon, and Emily's secret was still intact, for no one ever asked again what Hinpoha had been doing in the electric room on the afternoon of the Thessalonian play.

Valentine in the meantime had taken his sister Liz to a little quiet place; there, as her marriage could not be put off, and the ship was decided on in which they were to sail for New Zealand, he acted the part of father, and gave her away at the quietest wedding possible, seeing her off afterwards, and returning to take up his abode in his uncle's house, about three weeks after the death of Emily's little child.

The poetical temperament of Emily's mind made her frequently change places with others, and, indeed, become in thought those othersfears, feelings, and all.

Emily, Emily, why did you die?" Emily's portraitcalm, sweet, wasted, with grave trustful eyeswas in the next page.