And yet, somehow, a feeling of great tenderness--tenderer than even she had felt successively toward her own baby brothers, had grown up in her heart toward him, taking away every possible feeling of repulsion on account of his deformity.
She brought back the glass of creamy milk and a bit of oatcake, and laid them beside the earl.

He regarded them wistfully.
"How nice the milk looks! I am so tired--and so thirsty.

Please-- would you give me some?
Just hold the glass, that's all, and I can manage." Helen held it to his lips--the first time she ever did so, but not the last by many.

Years and years from then, when she herself was quite an old woman, she remembered, giving him that drink of milk, and how, afterward, two large soft eyes were turned upon hers so lovingly, so gratefully, as if the poor cripple had drank in something besides milk -- -the sweet draught of human affection, not dried up even to such heavily afflicted ones as he.
"Are the lessons all done for to-day, papa ?" said she, noticing that, eager as it was, the little face looked very wan and wearied, but also noticing with delight that her father's expression was brighter and more interested than it had been this long time.
"Done, Helen?
Well, if my pupil is tired, certainly." "But I'm not tired, sir." Helen shook her motherly head: "Quite enough for to-day.

You may come back again to-morrow." He did come back.