"A mere spectre!"

"Is she ill，or only famished?"

"Famished，I think. Hannah，is that milk? Give it me，and a piece of bread."

Diana (I knew her by the long curls which I saw drooping between me and the fire as she bent over me) broke some bread，dipped it in milk，and put it to my lips. Her face was near mine: I saw there was pity in it，and I felt sympathy in her hurried breathing. In her simple words，too，the same balm-like emotion spoke: "Try to eat."

"Yes- try," repeated Mary gently; and Mary"s hand removed my sodden bonnet and lifted my head. I tasted what they offered me: feebly at first，eagerly soon.

"Not too much at first- restrain her," said the brother; "she has had enough." And he withdrew the cup of milk and the plate of bread.

"A little more，St. John- look at the avidity in her eyes."

"No more at present，sister. Try if she can speak now- ask her her name."

I felt I could speak，and I answered- "My name is Jane Elliott."

Anxious as ever to avoid discovery，I had before resolved to assume an alias.

"And where do you live? Where are your friends?"

I was silent.

"Can we send for any one you know?"

I shook my head.

"What account can you give of yourself?"

Somehow，now that I had once crossed the threshold of this house，and once was brought face to face with its owners，I felt no longer outcast，vagrant，and disowned by the wide world. I dared to put off the mendicant- to resume my natural manner and character. I began once more to know myself; and when Mr. St. John demanded an account- which at present I was far too weak to render- I said after a brief pause-

"Sir，I can give you no details to-night."