tion. For now that Basil Redmond had become of importance to herself, though twelve years had gone by, she could estimate something of the agony of mind poor Miss Basil had suffered at the time of his departure.

When once her own personal interest was touched, Mrs. Basil was not incapable of sympathy; and, having to announce young Redmond's expected return, it struck her as a strangely painful fact that, during all the years of his absence, Miss Basil had never alluded to him in any way. But if Miss Basil's rigid silence in regard to the young man struck Mrs. Basil as something strange, she thought it stranger still when she found that Miss Basil was well informed about his movements. When Mrs. Basil, anxious to avoid a scene, having with careful diplomacy paved the way for disclosure, and almost trembling in anticipation of the effect her news must produce, announced that Basil Redmond might return to Middleborough any day, Miss Basil replied, composedly :

row."

Yes; he will be here to see me to-mor

Not another word on the subject did Miss Basil vouchsafe; and the self-respect of a Hendall forbade Mrs. Basil to give expression to the curiosity she felt.

But, when young Redmond came, his first demand was to see Mrs. Basil herself; and she, having been all her life a stickler for precedency, found herself regarding him now with some warmth of feeling. She would fain have had him believe that his name had been fondly remembered by the household of Basilwood; Joanna's manner, in spite of her statement that it had not been so very long since they had met, seemed to disprove this.

"She has forgotten me," Redmond said, with a sigh. "It is not strange; she was so very young when I left here, and I have been away, you remember, rather more than twelve years."

Redmond smiled; Mrs. Basil coughed; and then, happily, to fill an awkward pause, Miss Basil, "moving with a silken noise," appeared upon the scene.

There was an innate ladyhood about Miss Basil that nor care, nor poverty, nor hard work, could obliterate; but she could not receive Basil Redmond after his twelve years of absence with the stately self-possession that never forsook Mrs. Basil. Always nervous in company, she was, on this occasion, most unbecomingly agitated. Her thin lips twitched, her hands trembled, her eyes blinked painfully at the sunlight that streamed through the window; yet she seemed to put great restraint upon herself, and no other sign of emotion escaped her.

Mrs. Basil, relieved of all apprehension of a scene, looked at her, and thought that Pamela had chosen her calling wisely since her talents were not of a kind to render her an ornament to society. Joanna looked at her, and wondered how 'Mela could be so uncomfortable and so unhappy in her best clothes. Young Redmond alone seemed to enter into her real feelings. Hardly less agitated than herself, he ran toward her, and clasped her in his arms; and it was several seconds before either could speak.

"I am sure, I am sure that you have never forgotten me," he said, in trembling ac

cents.

"No, my dear boy," Miss Basil answered, almost in a whisper; "that was impossible." "And I should have known you anywhere!" he exclaimed, oblivious of every other presence. "I am sure I should-in spite of change."

"Oh, yes," he said; "I am a kinsman; but, indeed, I do not know what our relationship is exactly, not being good at genealogies."

This he said turning to Mrs. Basil.

"Ah, the judge, were he living, could settle that question, I fancy," said she, graciously. "But you young people don't keep up family connections so strictly as we did in old times. The judge was proud to have you bear his name; he always predicted well of you; and I am sensible that you are on the way to verify his predictions."

Her own predictions she prudently ignored. Redmond bowed and smiled, but made no attempt to disclaim.

"But then, indeed," continued Mrs. Basil, with amiable condescension, "none of the Basils are without talent. You remember what the judge himself was in his palmy days; and our good, retiring Pamela is unde-¦ niably a woman of wonderful executive ability.-By-the-way, Joanna, child, how Pamela lingers! Is she not coming down?"

"I suppose she is," answered Joanna, naïvely. "She is all dressed in her black silk."

her joy, that time had defrauded her of something no future could restore.

"Oh! oh!" thought the little Joanna, jealously, “Pamela is good enough to me, surely; she never forgets to dose me when I'm sick; but she never smiles on me in that devouring way; I'm only a girl!"

Mrs. Basil rose politely. She remembered that she herself had not been unmoved by Arthur's coming, though she did hope that she had maintained a well-bred composure.

"I will retire," said she, graciously. "But, Mr. Redmond, I beg, I insist, that you consider yourself entirely at home in this house. I regard you as one of the family."

Mr. Redmond gravely bowed his thanks, and Mrs. Basil passed out of the room with the air of having performed a magnanimous

action.

A silence followed. Deep feeling cannot find expression in fluent speech. The little Joanna, moved by an indefinable jealousy, had taken her seat on a low stool at Miss Bu

sil's feet, and, bewildered by all she saw and heard, sat still in her place, casting from under her lowered brows furtive gleams of distrust at the stranger.

At last Redmond spoke :

"How very gray she is! I should not have known her anywhere. And yet she is not changed."

"No," Miss Basil answered. "Mrs. Basil is just the same. And yet you asked to see her first," she added, reproachfully. "Was she so good a friend of yours in days gone by?"

"I can afford to forgive and forget the past," replied young Redmond, proudly. "And do you not understand that I could not approach you suddenly? See, we tremble still."

"But it is for joy," said Miss Basil, stretching out her hand to him. Ah, my boy! my boy! you always had a good heart; far be it from me to embitter you." But she had not forgiven Mrs. Basil yet.

"Then we need not speak of Judge Basil's widow," Basil Redmond said, as he took her outstretched hand, "we that have so much else to talk about!"

"Yes; it is twelve long years and five months," said Miss Basil, with bitter emphasis. She was one of those who, after reaching the shore, "would count the billows past." But she turned her eyes upon the young man with a look that gave Joanna a jealous pang; and the poor child impulsively placed her hand upon Miss Basil's knee, as Redmond moved his chair nearer. "Pamela is mine, and I am hers," she said to herself, indignantly. "What right has he to come between us?"

Neither Miss Basil nor young Redmond divined her jealous thoughts; they forgot her presence, indeed; and Joanna, herself, presently forgot her displeasure as she listened to his story of a life in the distant West.

But not long was her jealous heart at rest; for soon, to her unutterable amazement, she learned that in some remote town of that remote, great country, in which she found it hard to believe as a reality, Pamela, her Pamela, once had lived! Her hand, that rested lightly upon Miss Basil's knee, nervously clutched the worn black silk; but Miss Basil was all unconscious of the touch. She was leaning forward, listening so eagerly to the stranger.

"You went back there?" she said, excitedly. Oh, my boy! you did not write me

of that?"

"No," young Redmond answered, quietly; "I thought it best to wait. I could tell you about that visit so much better than I could write." And he seemed to speak with peculiar significance.

"But it is years-many years, since I left there," said Miss Basil, turning her face away, and wringing her hands nervously. "I must be forgotten-oh, yes! quite forgot. ten, like a dead man, out of mind." She seemed to be talking to herself; but Redmond answered gently:

No; there are some who remember you; one, indeed, who knows all-your story." Miss Basil started at this, and so also did Joanna; but in Miss Basil the start was succeeded by an uncontrollable tremor, while the little Joanna's first quick thrill of unut terable surprise was followed by the rigidity of despair.

Miss Basil's face, as she leaned forward,

looking eagerly into the young man's eyes, seemed transformed by struggling thoughts and feelings, to which she dared not give utterance. She evidently wondered, yet dreaded to ask from whom he had learned her secret, and how much of it he really knew; and the little Joanna's mobile features, after one swift glance as swiftly averted, at her Pamela's altered countenance, became stony. This stranger of a day-for Joanna could not regard Basil Redmond otherwise than as a stranger-actually knew Pamela's story; and she, the child of Pamela's adoption, had never even suspected that this prim, precise, elderly, and matter-of-fact woman, who preached so strenuously against youth and its follies, had a story! By no word or sign had it ever been revealed to her that Miss Basil had known any other life than the daily, prosaic routine of the grandmamma's household; yet this man knew it! The little Joanna felt cruelly wronged.

"You but no, no; you cannot know all?" Miss Basil said, with a vain attempt at a smile that ended in a gasp, as her relapsed figure sank back upon her chair. "It is a thing of the past, and best forgotten."

But Joanna heard not. She had taken her hand from Miss Basil's knee, not hastily but deliberately, sorrowfully, and Pamela had not missed it! With the quick intuition of passionate sympathies, she felt that Pamela did not miss her touch; and, although the removal of her hand was, in effect, a renunciation, Joanna's resentment of this indifference was keen. "I can bear this no longer," she said to herself, as she rose abruptly and left the room, passing out upon the piazza through the open French window; and neither Miss Basil nor young Redmond heeded her departure.

JOANNA stepped from the piazza into the broad walk leading down between the weedgrown flower-borders to the thrifty cabbagebeds where old Thurston was resting on his hoe. With childish petulance she wreaked her vexation on the tall white lilies, snatching at them, and scattering them ruthlessly as she passed; but she who had been so ready to weep over her unsatisfactory attire, had now no tears wherewith to relieve the keen anguish she felt at the necessity of renouncing Pamela; for, to her morbidly wrought-up feelings, this seemed to be the step forced upon her by all she had heard that morning-she must renounce Pamela.

The perception that Pamela and herself were incongruous had been slowly dawning upon Joanna for some time past; but while recognizing this unwelcome truth most reluctantly, her heart had never swerved from its allegiance to her exacting cousin, in spite of many differences of opinion. There had been times, often of late, when Joanna acknowledged to herself, with sore distress, that she could never give the stolid, stoical, | excellent Miss Basil the genuine confidence of her heart struggle as she might, she could not resist this desolating conviction.

Yet Miss Basil was the one human being to whom she clung with a sort of repressed, defiant ardor of affection. Even when most at variance with her, Joanna had taken comfort in the thought that nothing could change Pamela; that to her, at least, she must always be the same unfailing, prudent, reliable counselor, if not a consoler.

It was no slight shock to discover that this reticent, unimpressible Pamela, with whom she was impatient every day, was not the Pamela she knew; not the indispensable, inalienable adjunct of quiet, humdrum old Basilwood, but a person wrapped about in mystery, who had lived in a far-away country, who had a story," like people in books, and who had lived a different life from this in which Joanna knew her. Basil Redmond's startling revelation had destroyed for her Miss Basil's identity. She felt as though her Pamela had died and given place to some one she did not know; and poor Joanna thought remorsefully of her harsh. kindness, her faithful fault-finding, her stern piety that had no sympathy with human weakness.

And yet Joanna knew that Miss Basil's vigilance and invective would continue just as heretofore. "She will retain all her rights over me," she mused, moodily; "but I shall have none over her. She has kept her life a secret from me-from me, as though I were nobody, and less than nothing to her! And if 'Mela doesn't care for me, who does care for me?"

Joanna had betaken herself to her favorite alcove, and was sitting there, staring vacantly into the garden, seeing nothing, and in her wretchedness quite unconscious of the flight of time. But at this stage of her unreasonable reflections, she chanced to turn her eyes upon the slender stem of the mimosa-tree immediately in front of the alcove, where, to her intense surprise, she beheld, freshly cut in the greenish-brown bark, her own name, JOANNA.

It was as though the tree had found a tongue and spoken to console her; and her thoughts were turned abruptly into a new and pleasant channel. At first she stared incredulously; then she rose and deliberately traced the letters with her finger, as though she would have the sense of touch corroborate the testimony of her eyes: this done, she quietly sat down again, leaning negligently forward with her hands in her lap, and contemplated the epigraph with a pleased smile, her cheeks burning with the conviction that none but Arthur could have carved it there. She did not attempt to conceal from herself that she took a supreme pleasure in the certainty that this was his work; yet she could not have told why she felt unwilling that any one should see it but herself.

How long she sat there in dreamy abstraction she did not know; the sun was burning fiercely, but she was in the pleasant shade, and a soft breeze was fanning her. But, after a time, the sound of approaching footsteps awoke in her heart a wild wish that the name staring at her so persistently would vanish. She knew that it could not be Arthur that was coming, for she had

caught sight of a black dress through the shrubbery, and she surmised that it must be the grandmamma, taking a noontide constitutional, as Dr. Garnet had lately advised. "Wait until the sun has dried the dew," said the doctor, "and then walk in the shade. Exercise! Exercise! that's the thing." So Mrs. Basil raised her secondbest parasol, that was beginning to split, and went out every day, just about the hour that the garden lost its attraction for Arthur, that is to say, when Joanna herself went in-doors; for Miss Basil did not approve of the noontide sun. Knowing this, how could Joanna suppose that the everbusy, methodical Pamela would be walking a round-about way through the garden at that hour of the day merely to see that stranger to the gate?

With a sudden impulse, of which she was afterward heartily ashamed, Joanna slipped the blue ribbon from her hair and tied it around the tree so as to hide the telltale "The grandmamma," she knew, would never stay to disturb any of her fanciful arrangements; and, having fastened the ribbon securely, she fled.

name.

Young Redmond laughed. "Why, the child must be lonesome," said he, "to make a playmate of a tree. What an odd freak!" "Odd freak?" repeated Miss Basil, tugging angrily at the obstinate knot in the ribbon. "Culpable extravagance, I call it! I shall never be able to make Gracious heaven!" she interrupted herself in a voice of utter dismay, as the name in the bark stood revealed. "It is just what I expected!" she cried, vehemently. "That young Hendall-" Poor Miss Basil paused, powerless to express herself. "O Basil, don't you see? What shall I do?" Habituated though she was to self-dependence, her pleading voice and look showed unmistakably the ineffable comfort she felt in having some one to apply to in this extremity.

Her broken hints gave Basil Redmond a sufficiently clear understanding of the little pastoral comedy of which Joanna was the heroine; but what should he, a young man, know about the management of girls?

"Poor little Joanna," said he, compas sionately. Don't scold her just for a ribbon."

Perhaps, all things considered, no wiser advice could be given, yet Miss Basil, for all her unquestioning faith in "her boy," shook her head dubiously. "You don't know Joanna," she said. "A vast deal of supervi sion that child requires. I have striven faithfully to bring her up in the way she

should go; but she is turning out as little like me as if she had never known my care."

"Poor little Joanna," said Redmond. "She is as much a child as when I left her years ago. I knew her the moment I saw her; I felt sure it was she, though I was not expecting to see her."

Why should you not have been expecting to see her?" Miss Basil asked, in rather an injured tone. "You knew Joanna must be with me."

"It was not here that I saw her first; it was over in the town at Carter's."

"Joanna! What was she doing at Carter's?" Miss Basil asked, incredulously.

Why, oddly enough, she was anticipating me in a purchase I wished to make myself. I was going about reviewing the town, incognito, you see-and, by-the-way, not a soul I met knew me-when I was attracted by a picture in Carter's window-a picture of a bluebird's nest-that in some way reminded me of the little playmate I had left twelve years ago, and I wished to buy it for her."

"Ah!" murmured Miss Basil; she was not quite sure whether she approved or not.

"But," continued Redmond, "while I lingered over some paper I had asked to see, Joanna my little playmate herself-came in and actually bought the very picture."

"It is not possible!" said Miss Basil, with irritation. "But it is just Joanna's way-to be wasting money on pictures; and then wasting time looking at them. I tell you, Basil, you must help me watch over Joanna for the judge's sake-he was good to you, whatever Mrs. Basil may have been."

"Let us do her justice," Redmond interrupted, quickly. "I can understand, now, what a trial I must have been 'to such a woman; and I think, after all, that what you call her want of forbearance had not a little to do with making a man of me."

"As if it was not in you to make a man of yourself!" remonstrated Miss Basil, proudly.

Perhaps it was the thought of you more than any thing else," he said, affectionately. "The thought of you has influenced all my course, and saved me from many a temptation."

"It is because you have a good heart, my boy," Miss Basil said. The merit should be entirely his; she would have none of it.

"I had ever before me," continued he, "the hope of one day making your life the happier for me-you who were so good a mother to me in my motherless childhood."

My life has always been the happier for you, Basil, my boy," said Miss Basil, turning her face away. "It is enough—it is all I ever hoped, if I do not need to part from you again. I can hardly bear, even now, to have you leave my sight."

They had arrived at the gate now, and Redmond took her hand.

"Never fear," he said, cheerfully. "You shall be reinstated in all your rights-"

"O Basil! don't! don't!" she entreated. "It was the good old judge's advice to let my sad, sad story die with me. Push it no further-you do not know what it involves." "But if I can bring proof?" he urged.

A wild light gleamed for an instant in Miss Basil's faded eyes, but it died quickly. "So much of my life is gone-" she said, slowly and sorrowfully.

"We shall see! we shall see!" he said, encouragingly, as he walked away,

'Dear, beloved boy, what would he do?" Miss Basil asked herself, uneasily, as she stood watching him through gathering tears. "Heaven guide, I pray; Heaven will guide him, I know; and Heaven's will be done! But can any good come of revealing that miserable story? Alas! it is now too late! too late! Better it should die with me."

She brushed away a tear at this; and, rolling Joanna's ribbon round her finger by way of smoothing it, walked back to the house in meditative mood.

"What to do with Joanna I do not know," she mused, as she went. "Her heedlessness is unaccountable, considering her training. I must have a talk with Basil about that Arthur Hendall; he shall advise As to Joanna-how could she throw away money upon a trumpery picture, when money is so scarce? I must give her a talk about her wastefulness and her extravagance; but I'll not scold her, I'll reason with her. Basil knows best, and I won't scold her."

me.

Child, I was seeking you," said she, blandly. "Come to my room; I have something to say to you."

Joanna, her heart beating loudly and painfully, followed without a word, unable to understand why she should feel like a culprit.

mimosa-tree, the ribbon she had tied over it-all went out of her head; but the all-important question of dress, never long absent from the mind of dawning womanhood, was on her lips in an instant.

"What should I wear?" she asked, timidly; half in hope, half in despair.

Mrs. Basil, smiling, rose and unlocked her wardrobe; and, taking thence the great green box, she displayed, with some ceremony, the fleecy white polonaise, with its billowy frills and puffings, the gorgeous Roman sash, the fan, the rich but wofully yellow lace handkerchief; and Joanna, comprehending without words that all this array was for her adornment, actually went down upon her knees in artless adoration of finery.

"For me?" she sighed, with profound satisfaction.

"For you," said Mrs. Basil, almost wishing that she had been actuated solely by an interest in the judge's granddaughter.

"Oh, how good, how very good, you are to think of me!" said Joanna, with ardent gratitude, but still keeping her eyes riveted upon the adorable polonaise.

"Joanna," said Mrs. Basil, impressively, laying her hand upon the shoulder of the kneeling girl, "I am old, and I have some old-fashioned notions. I do not like to see young people forward. I hope that you will remember your extreme youth, and not expect particular attention."

"Oh, yes!" cried the grateful Joanna, eagerly. "I will never speak, unless I am spoken to."

Mrs. Basil smiled, and laid the polonaise with its accompaniments back in the box.

"Take it to your room, child," said she, giving it into Joanna's eager hands, "and be sure you have a skirt sufficiently long to wear with it."

A needless injunction; for Joanna was at that moment even running over in her mind various expedients for converting her applegreen challis into a demi-train. If only there had been some one to sympathize with her, and assist her, in her feminine solicitude about this matter of the demi-train. She could not trouble the grandmamma about that; and Pamela would be sure to moralize about pomps and vanities. Nevertheless, "No," answered Joanna, not knowing Joanna was eager to display her new posseswhat else to say.

Joanna," said Mrs. Basil, gravely, seating herself on the old sofa that filled up a corner of her room, and motioning Joanna to a faded ottoman opposite, "you cannot remain a child forever."

"And I can do very little for you, Joanna."

"No, grandmamma," said Joanna again, very meekly.

"It," pursued Mrs. Basil, with a sigh"if I had the means I once had, I should take both pride and pleasure in introducing you as the judge's granddaughter into society."

"Yes, grandmamma," said Joanna, echoing the sigh.

"But at least I will gladly do what is in my power. I shall have company to dine with me next Thursday, and I wish you to be present."

Joanna started. Was she in a dream? Was she really to attend one of those rare entertainments Mrs. Basil sometimes gave, of which she saw only the wrong side? Her renunciation of Pamela, the name on the

sion to Miss Basil, and to proclaim the honor in store for her. Oh, if that strange man down-stairs would only go away and leave Pamela at liberty!

However, she was at no loss to pass away the time. She took down the green challis skirt, and disposed the white muslin over it, tying the sash about the waist, and laying the handkerchief and fan across the lap.

Surveying the effect critically, there was no denying that both fan and handkerchief were yellow-decidedly yellow; but then the carving of that ivory fan, it was superb; and the lace-why, it was real point, point d'ai guille, Joanna knew, for she had heard Miss Ruffner say so once when Mrs. Basil had displayed it for criticism; and Miss Ruffner, she knew all about dress-not a doubt of that! Joanna's satisfaction, but for her solicitude about the demi-train, would have been complete.

A COOL, refreshing breeze from the sea; and Upton Travers enjoyed it greatly, lolling at his ease in a cane-chair on the terrace, and smoking a cigar with evident gusto. A grand sunset also the full crimson bathed the terrace, and colored every object with its radiance. Travers had a deep appreciation for the loveliness of Nature. He gazed with rapture on the bars of dark purple, fringed with burning gold, on the distant lakes of glowing ether, on the islands and cloud-mountains of the upper world. Tears of sensibility stole down his cheeks. "Pshaw!" he exclaimed, wiping away the tears. "It's very lovely, yet what is it after all but moisture, the result of evaporation, not really more wonderful than these tears; part and parcel of that same wonderful thing, moisture. What are we men and women but a good deal of moisture, a little carbon, and many illusions; a given column of water, and a residuum of ash? Voilà tout!" he exclaimed, in a tone of regret, as he brushed the ash from his cigar, and blew some of the gray dust from his sleeve. "And yet, hang me, if the illusions don't seem more real than any thing else ultimate sublimation of cell and tissue. wonder whether they remain component parts of the water or the ash?" Travers was amused with the query-any thing, in fact, to while away time. He had, as was his wont, quietly reviewed the situation in which he stood, summed up the result, and laid the matter quietly to rest until it was required for action.

I

The sum total was satisfactory enough: he had been foiled, but not vanquished. Nay, not foiled: he had made a reconnaissance in force, but he had not risked a serious battle -a reconnaissance which had tested the weakness and strength of the adversary. He reasoned the matter thus: "I didn't believe enough in her repentance, there I was wrong; a little more hypocrisy would have opened a better approach; anyhow, nothing could have mined her love for that man. There's my strong point - my winning-card! Egad! I didn't know the spring I touched when she turned upon me with all the fury of a tigress-that weak, frivolous woman a tigress-who'd have guessed it? She would have stabbed me, too-by Heaven, she would! All the better, she has revealed the intensity of her feelings. That ten thousand pounds is mine! I have only to stand before that man in her presence, and the check will be signed then and there, no doubt of that; cool head and steady hand, and I must win."

The Sister Superior entered on the terrace from the colonel's room. She stood awhile by the curtains and watched Travers with the greatest interest; she was deeply touched

by the traces of tears in his eyes—the bitter memories of that sad past, repentance and reparation for the future. She approached him, and laid her hand gently on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I can't let you see her now," she said, in sympathetic tone. "The colonel is going to be brought out on the terrace; the cool, fresh air of the evening always soothes him; and he's so fond of listening to the regimental band which plays after sunset, old English tunes, usually. As soon as he is comfortably settled, another nurse will replace your dear wife, and then she will be free to join you. There's my sitting-room at your service; you'll be at peace there."

"You are very good, madam," replied Travers; "but I am obliged to run away directly for a few hours to Constantinople on pressing business-"

"You would like to see her before you go?" observed the Sister, in a somewhat embarrassed manner. "I could call her out, though, of course, the affair being still a secret, it's rather awkward, you see.”

"Don't disturb her, pray," replied Travers. “I said I would not interfere, for the time at least, with the sacred duties she has undertaken; besides, it is perhaps for the best, after the agitation she has endured, that we should not meet again to-day. Her forgiveness was not lightly won-you understand my motive-I shall return to-morrow morning; be kind enough to tell her this, with my best love. O madam," he exclaimed, with deep fervor, "I can never sufficiently acknowledge your goodness to her and to me!"

"Not another word of thanks, I beg," replied the Sister, touched by his warmth. "I can never do too much to further her happiness."

"By-the-way," asked Travers, "shall I have any difficulty in reëntering the hospital -the sentry made some demur to-day?"

"There need be no difficulty," replied the Sister. "I will procure an order from the commandant. Dear me, how can I explain the affair to him? I do wish this dreadful secret was at an end."

"A little longer, for her sake, I beg," answered Travers.

Very naturally the commandant would want to know," urged the Sister.

"Is there any pass you could give me," suggested Travers, or lend me for a day or

two?"

"I'm afraid not; I've only my special pass."

for him to keep up his assumed character with Dr. Sholto, and, further, to deceive the doctor into the belief that he was really about to leave for Constantinople.

Dr. Sholto followed the Sister on to the terrace, and Travers withdrew.

"Well, ma'am," exclaimed Sholto, in cheerful voice, "I really think we may fairly venture to give him his nobly won reward this evening. He's enjoying his soup and the glass of old brown sherry.. We won't make any fuss about the affair-as quietly as pos sible; I should dearly like to see it given to him, poor fellow. I shall stop till the last moment. By Jove, we mustn't forget he's Bentley's patient, though; Bentley ought to have the responsibility."

"You doctors are so dreadfully punctilious," said the Sister, with a smile. "I'll go and find Dr. Bentley."

"Allow me to go; you must be tired." "We nurses don't understand the word," replied the Sister, energetically, and she started off on her quest.

"How splendidly that woman works!" exclaimed Sholto, with admiration. "Pay people wages, and they shirk; make conscience their paymaster, and they'll do your work for nothing-economical labor-system, if it could only be carried out on a large scale."

Mrs. Murray was utterly aghast at the thought of Dr. Sholto's departure. He was the only person in whom she could trust, the only protector to whom she could cling. As soon as the Sister was fairly out of sight she hurried up to Sholto.

"For God's sake, don't leave me!' "What's the matter, dear lady?" he answered, kindly.

"That man-has he gone?" she asked, anxiously.

"Your agent-why, here he is," answered Sholto, as Travers approached him from his lurking-place. Mrs. Murray cowered away.

"I desire to apologize, doctor, for my undue warmth about that document," said Travers, in deprecatory tone.

"No apology is needed," said Sholto, somewhat stiffly.

"I feel I ought to make one," persisted Travers," and I do so most fully."

"If apology be needed, it ought to come from me," answered Sholto, touched by the frankness of Travers. "I was, I fear, hasty -huffy. I beg in return to apologize to you, sir."

"I have never parted with it," replied the Sister; however, this is a very special occasion." She took the pass from her pocketbook, and placed it in his hands. "Please to be very careful of it."

"Most careful, madam, be assured of that. Thank you for this additional mark of your confidence. Is Dr. Sholto still with the colonel?"

"He is; but he'll have to start directly, his leave is almost up."

"And now to business, if you will permit me. I leave here directly for Constantineple. Will you allow me to wait on you tomorrow morning with a draft assignmen duly drawn at our office?"

"Good suggestion," replied Sholto. "It is certainly better that the document should be drawn by a professional man."

"Less chance for the lawyers to trip us up hereafter. I understand the substance of Mrs. Graham's wishes. What hour will be convenient for you, to-morrow, doctor? "Twelve o'clock."

"Staff-Surgeon Sholto, Royal Hospital,

"Yes; Mustapha Pacha's palace."

"I shall be with you, doctor. Pardon me, I have one word to say to Mrs. Graham;" and Travers approached Mrs. Murray.

She shrank involuntarily from him as he whispered in her ear, with incisive clearness, "I think you were going to be foolish enough to betray me to Sholto. Think well of it. The toils are closed around you. In the belief of the Sister Superior you have received me as your repentant husband; let my name be divulged, and you will become doubly infamous in her eyes. I wish you good-evening," he added, in accustomed tones, bowing most respectfully to the tortured woman.

"Twelve o'clock to-morow, doctor."

"That man is not my agent-not from Bertimati's-it's all a lie; that man is Upton Travers."

"Upton Travers! What does this mean?" "He has come here to extort that money from me; he threatens to reveal my presence here to Colonel Murray."

"Scoundrel!" exclaimed Sholto, with indignation. "How did he gain admittance here?"

"He deceived the Sister with a specious story that he was my husband-that he had deserted me that he had repented."

"Liar! Egad! if I had only known this I would have choked the life out of his cursed body."

"Don't let him come here again," she exclaimed, piteously. "I shall die if he does. I have passed through a fearful ordeal; my being is shattered to its very depths. He strove to gain access to the colonel's room. I baffled him, thank Heaven!—but in the struggle I fainted. Oh, horror, I returned to consciousness in the coil of that man's arms; his accursed lips were pressed to mine! I was helpless-the good Sister stood smiling on my agony, which she deemed the emotion of new happiness-helpless in the sense of past sin, crushed in soul, as the python crushes a man's body in its loathsome folds. A little more, and the end will come." She

Gently-compose yourself. It is impossible for you to leave here this evening; indeed, you will be safer under this roof."

"He will return when you have gone," she answered, in despairing voice.

"Trust to me-I will see the commandant. I will undertake that strict orders are immediately given that no one be admitted to the hospital without a special pass. On my return to Pera, I will make effective arrangements for your reception. You shall be transferred to my own hospital. Let that scoundrel venture there, if he dare!"

"If I am transferred to your hospital, you will have to tell the truth to Dr. Bentley and the Sister," she answered, mournfully. "They will think of me with scorn and contempt. I have striven so very hard; shall I never be able to escape from the consequences of that sin ?"

My dear lady," said he, tenderly, and he took her hand in his, "I must tell the truth, even if it be very bitter; believe me, it's the safest course-the cleverest lies always end in confusion worse confounded. I know the truth, and I respect and honor you. Be sure those two worthy people will do so also when they know your story. I have not time now to speak to them as I should wish to speak. To-morrow morning, count on me-till then be assured you are quite safe here."

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She pressed his hand in token of her submission. My truest blessing upon you, good, true friend to him, to me, to my child."

The Sister returned from her mission to Dr. Bentley.

"It's all right, doctor!" she exclaimed, cheerfully; "Dr. Bentley leaves the affair entirely in your hands."

"Good! then we'll give it to him forthwith," exclaimed Sholto. "Let him be brought out on the terrace. I shall be back in a few minutes; I've a word or so to say to the commandant," he added, with a significant glance at Mrs. Murray.

"I suppose the colonel is all ready?" inquired the Sister. "By-the-way, Mr. Leslie desired me to say that he was called back on pressing business to Constantinople. lle wouldn't let me call you out; he does not wish the secret to be known yet." The Sister went up to the curtains, and partly drew them open.

Mrs. Murray shuddered with disgust at the words of the Sister. There was only too much reason in all that Dr. Sholto had urged-better tell the truth, however heartrending the task, than be a puppet to the lies of Travers. She resolved to tell the Sister the whole sad story, and trust to her noble love and mercy; but the resolution was baffled by the voice of the colonel.

"Graham! Graham!" he cried, impatiently, "where are you?"

"He'll be here directly, colonel." Sholto returned at that moment. "The colonel has been inquiring for you, doctor," said Graham.

"Here I am, Murray; haven't got long to stay, though.-Come, let's help you on to the terrace-Graham will assist." And the colonel's couch was accordingly wheeled on to the terrace, Graham carefully supporting the invalid's head, which she propped up with a pillow.

"Is your head comfortable, colonel?" she asked, tenderly, hiding her tears from the Sister as best she could.

"Very comfortable, thanks. I won't keep you any longer; I require nothing else."

"Go and rest a little, dear lady," whispered the Sister, kindly pressing her hand; but Mrs. Murray, not trusting herself to reply, retired apart into the colonel's room. "Will you give it to him?" whispered the Sister to Sholto.

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'No, ma'am-from your hands." "You are his oldest friend. I am sure he would like it best from you."

"Be it so ;" and Sholto took the little case containing the cross from the Sister.

"It's very good of you, Sholto," said the colonel," to stop so long with me. It has been a great pleasure, I assure you-done me real good, old fellow; but you mustn't forget your duty to your patients, mind.”

"All right, my boy," answered Sholto, cheerfully; "I'll take care of them, and of you, too. I must be off in another few minutes or so, but before I start I am going to have a bit of pleasure on my own account. Last time I was here I read you that splendid notice in the Gazette about the Victoria Cross, and now they've sent out the cross itself."

"Have they, indeed?" exclaimed the colonel, his pale face flushing instantly with excitement and emotion.

"The commandant wanted to present it to you himself," continued Sholto-" make a grand business of it, you know; but we thought, old fellow, you weren't quite in a state for much fuss and palavering. Better do the thing in mufti, eh?"

"Quite right, Sholto-quite right. I'm very glad they've sent it, though," he added, in heart-felt words. "Who's got it?"

"I have. I'm going to have the pleasure and honor of giving it to you," answered Sholto; and he came close to the couch.

"One minute, Sholto," and the colonel waved back the doctor's hand; he held silence for a moment, and then he added, "we'll have a little ceremony over the affair,

after all. Where's Graham ?"

In your room, colonel,” replied the Sis

"Graham, I want you, please;" and Graham came trembling to the side of the

couch.