Motioning Hester to remove the box, Christie tried to banish the cloud her unlucky words had brought to Helen’s face, by chatting cheerfully as she helped her make herself “pretty for the boys.”

All that day she was unusually calm and sweet, and seemed to yield herself wholly to the happy influences of the hour, gave and received her gifts so cheerfully that her brothers watched her with delight; and unconscious Bella said, as she hung about her sister, with loving admiration in her eyes: 

“I always thought you would get well, and now I’m sure of it, for you look as you used before I went away to school, and seem just like our own dear Nell.”

“I’m glad of that; I wanted you to feel so, my Bella.  I’ll accept your happy prophecy, and hope I may get well soon, very soon.”

So cheerfully she spoke, so tranquilly she smiled, that all rejoiced over her believing, with love’s blindness, that she might yet conquer her malady in spite of their forebodings.

It was a very happy day to Christie, not only that she was generously remembered and made one of them by all the family, but because this change for the better in Helen made her heart sing for joy.  She had given time, health, and much love to the task, and ventured now to hope they had not been given in vain.  One thing only marred her happiness, the sad estrangement of the daughter from her mother, and that evening she resolved to take advantage of Helen’s tender mood, and plead for the poor soul who dared not plead for herself.

As the brothers and sisters said good-night, Helen clung to them as if loth to part, saying, with each embrace: 

“Keep hoping for me, Bella; kiss me, Harry; bless me, Augustine, and all wish for me a happier New Year than the last.”

When they were gone she wandered slowly round the room, stood long before the picture with its fading garland, sung a little softly to herself, and came at last to Christie, saying, like a tired child: 

“I have been good all day; now let me rest.”

“One thing has been forgotten, dear,” began Christie, fearing to disturb the quietude that seemed to have been so dearly bought.

Helen understood her, and looked up with a sane sweet face, out of which all resentful bitterness had passed.

“No, Christie, not forgotten, only kept until the last.  To-day is a good day to forgive, as we would be forgiven, and I mean to do it before I sleep,” Then holding Christie close, she added, with a quiver of emotion in her voice:  “I have no words warm enough to thank you, my good angel, for all you have been to me, but I know it will give you a great pleasure to do one thing more.  Give dear mamma my love, and tell her that when I am quiet for the night I want her to come and get me to sleep with the old lullaby she used to sing when I was a little child.”

No gift bestowed that day was so precious to Christie as the joy of carrying this loving message from daughter to mother.  How Mrs. Carrol received it need not be told.  She would have gone at once, but Christie begged her to wait till rest and quiet, after the efforts of the day, had prepared Helen for an interview which might undo all that had been done if too hastily attempted.