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"Do you mean Elizabeth March, who got the Tassel prize this year?" asked Patricia in surprise. "Why, I saw her last week at the exhibition and she was awfully prim looking." She had her reward in Doris' dazzling smile, and her assurances that she would do all she could to make Elinor's vindication speedy and thorough. She said she had come because she felt that if she talked with me I might be better able to understand Alfred when he came, and that she had seen that the judge was very determined, and she thoroughly recognised his force of character. We stopped there while I gave her the document to read. I suppose it was dishonourable, but I needed her protection from it. I'm glad she had the strength of mind to walk with a head high in the air to the fire and burn it up. Anything might have happened if she hadn't. And even now I feel that only my marriage vows will close up the case for the judge—even yet he may—— But when Ruth had got done with Alfred, she had wiped Judge Wade's appreciation of him completely off my mind and destroyed it in tender words that burned us both worse than Jane's fire burned the letter. She did me an awfully good service..

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"I declare if I ain't a firm believer in fairies after this," she said with frank affection. "There isn't anything prettier nor sweeter in the whole ball, I'll warrant!" "None at all. But the wind and rain were wild outside, so that they may have drowned the noise made by those who broke in." Mr. Henderson has been dead forty-two years. He only lived three months after he married Aunt Adeline, and her crêpe veil is over a yard long yet. Men are the dust under her feet, but she likes Dr. John to come over and sit with us, because she can consult with him about what Mr. Henderson really died of, and talk with him about the sad state of poor Mr. Carter's liver for a year before he died. I just go on rocking Billy and singing hymns to him in such a way that I can't hear the conversation. Mr. Carter's liver got on my nerves alive, and dead it does worse. But it hurts when the doctor has to take the little sleep-boy out of my arms to carry him home; though I like it when he says under his breath, "Thank you, Molly." David spoke so fervidly that Jen saw plainly he meant what he said. The massive face of the young man looked worn and haggard in the searching light of the morning, and whatever enmity the love of the same woman had sown between him and the dead, it was not to be denied that he was suffering cruelly from remorse at their unhappy difference. Jen was sorry, but even in his own grief he could not forbear a stab..