and put it down upon the bear skin rug. She then sat down upon the cushion and laid her head upon the pillow by the side of her aunt. She then gently took her aunt's hand and laid it upon her cheek, in the position in which her aunt herself had placed it, when Ellen had laid her head down there before. She looked timidly into her aunt's face as she did this, to see whether any signs that she was awake could be observed. The eyes of the patient opened a very little, and a faint smile lighted up her pale features for a moment, and Ellen thought that she could perceive a gentle pressure upon her cheek from her aunt's hand. In a moment, however, both the hand and the face returned to their state of repose, as before.

Ellen remained quiet in this position a few minutes, looking into the fire, and wondering when Martha would come back, when she felt something gently touching her upon the shoulder. She looked round and found that it was Lutie climbing up upon her. Lutie had jumped up from the floor to the couch, and had crept along to where Ellen was lying, and was now cautiously stepping over upon her.

"Ah, Lutie," said she. "Is it you? It is time for you to go to bed."

Lutie's bed was out in the back room. There was no door leading from the room where Ellen was, directly into the back room. It was necessary to go into a sort of entry first, and from this entry into the back room by a separate door. All this may be clearly understood by referring to the plan.

It happened, however, that there was an old window in the partition between the great room and the back room. The reason why this window was in the partition was this. The house was first built without any back room, and then the window on that side looked out upon the yard. When at last the back room was built, the window was rendered useless, but it was not closed up. There was a curtain over it, and this curtain was always left drawn. The back room was used for storage of various things, and for rough and heavy work on extraordinary occasions.

Lutie's bed was in a box in a corner of this room. The place is marked L in the plan. The bed was made of carpets and was very warm. Lutie was always put out there every night at nine o'clock. She was not allowed to remain at the fireside all night, lest she should do some damage to the various things which were placed there on cold nights to keep them warm. Lutie was accustomed to remain quietly in her bed until Martha got up in the morning. She always knew when Martha got up, however early it might be, for she could see the glow of the fire which Martha made, shining through the old window in the partition between the rooms. When Lutie saw this light she would go to the window, jump up upon the sill outside, and mew for Martha to let her in.

Although it was not yet nine o'clock, and though Ellen would have liked Lutie's company as long as she remained alone with her aunt, she thought she would put her out.

"I may fall asleep myself," said she, "and then you will creep along upon Aunt Anne, and disturb her. So you must go, Lutie."

She accordingly took up the kitten and carried her out. When she opened the door into the entry, she saw quite a little drift of snow, which had blown in under the edge of the door from the outer platform.

"Ah, it is a cold and stormy night," said she, "but you must get into bed as soon as you can, and get warm."

Ellen stopped a moment to listen to the sound of the storm, as it howled and roared among the trees of the forest, and then went back again to her place at the fireside.

She moved her cushion and rug to the foot of the couch, and then bringing a pillow from the bedroom, she put it upon the couch, at the foot of it, so that she could sit upon the cushion, and lay her head upon her own pillow, without any danger of incommoding or disturbing her aunt. She then sat down and laid her head upon this pillow, with her face toward the fire. She determined, however, though she thus laid her head down, not to go to sleep, but to keep awake, if she possibly could, until Martha or Hugh should return.

She did go to sleep, however, notwithstanding all her resolution. She was asleep in fifteen minutes after she had laid her head down.

ELLEN ASLEEP.

Lutie fell asleep too, very soon, in her bed in the back room, and Ellen's aunt was asleep, so that all were asleep. There was no one watching or awake in all the house.

Ellen slept several hours. In the mean time the wind and storm raged more and more violently without, and the snow fell from the skies and was driven along the ground faster and faster. Great drifts formed upon the roofs and around the chimneys; and below, the yards, the fences, the woodpiles were all covered. Great banks of snow were formed too, behind the house, in the whirling eddy produced by the wind in turning round the corner. One of these banks rose gradually up against the windows on that side. At ten o'clock the whole lower sash of each window was covered; at half past ten the snow had risen half way up the upper sash, and at eleven one window was entirely concealed, while only a little corner of the other was left, and even that was fast disappearing. The bucket in the well was filled, and the snow was banked up against the sides of the curb, till at last the crest of the drift began to curl over at the top, as if seeking to bury up the well entirely. The fences were all hidden from view, and a cart which had been left standing in the corner of the yard, was so entirely covered, that nothing remained but a white and shapeless mound to mark the place where it lay buried.

At last Ellen opened her eyes again. She was at first frightened to find that she had been asleep. She feared that some mischief might have happened, while she had been insensible. The fire had burned entirely down, and the room was almost dark. Ellen threw on a small stick of wood to make a little blaze, and by the light of this blaze she looked at her aunt. She was lying, she found, in the same posture as when Ellen went to sleep. Ellen put her ear down to listen, and found that her aunt was breathing—very gently, indeed—but still breathing.

Ellen looked at the clock; for there was a large clock standing in a corner of the room. It was twelve.

"It is midnight," said Ellen; "I did not think it was so late."

Ellen next put some large sticks of wood upon the fire. The room, she thought, was getting cold. The wood was dry and it blazed up very cheerfully and illuminated the whole apartment with a very cheerful light. Lutie saw the light shining through the curtain, and she supposed that it was morning, and that Martha had built the fire. So she stretched her paws and rubbed her face, and then after listening a moment to the sound of the storm, she stepped over the side of the box where her bed was made, walked to the window, leaped up upon the window-sill, and mewed, according to her usual custom, expecting that Martha would come to let her in.

Ellen went and opened the window for Lutie. Then she went back again to the fire. She stood at the fire a minute or two, and then went to the front window of the room, to look out; she wondered what could have become of Martha. She listened at the window. The storm was roaring dreadfully down the valley, but nothing could be seen. The panes of glass were half covered with the snow, which was banked up upon the sash on the outside. Ellen concluded that she would go to the door, where she thought that perhaps she might see a little way down the road, and if she could not see, at least she could listen. So she put a shawl over her shoulders and went out into the porch. She shut the door leading from the porch into the