that has been in my thoughts since Dora died.

You remember, when you came down to me in our little room — pointing upward, Agnes?’

‘Oh, Trotwood!’ she returned, her eyes filled with tears. ‘So loving, so confiding, and so young! Can I ever forget?’

‘As you were then, my sister, I have often thought since, you have ever been to me. Ever pointing upward, Agnes; ever leading me to something better; ever directing me to higher things!’

She only shook her head; through her tears I saw the same sad quiet smile.

‘And I am so grateful to you for it, Agnes, so bound to you, that there is no name for the affection of my heart. I want you to know, yet don’t