unjust at times, I see afterwards that you are very sorry for it."

"That's what Brian never could see," she murmured; "he never made allowance for my ill-training, bad education, worse temper, anything. Why, madam, I never had a mother, sister, any woman to ask counsel of, to stand by me as a friend, and tell me which was right and which was wrong. And oh! I wanted woman's help so badly. Mabel's arm stole round the waist of the girl, who was weeping bitterly.

"Tell me all, Dorcas, and spare me the reading of those tiresome letters. I will be lieve every word you say."

"Brian will tell me presently that I never showed them to you that I never had the courage to tell you the truth."

"I will answer for you that he is in error."

"Well, well-let me think."

Dorcas pressed her fingers to her eyes, as if to press the tears back, and then looked long and steadily at our heroine.

"I was going to leave this tale to Brian. It had entered my poor, weak head that it would be the wisest step for me to keep silent, and to disappear like a ghost. But then Brian would have said such bitter things."

"Why disappeared from me?" "Because I am drawn away to a new life, where my trust and duty and love take me, and you will be the last to ask me to keep away from it."

"Indeed!" said Mabel thoughtfully; "then the one friend I have in England is to pass away?" "Yes."

"For ever?"

M

CHAPTER XIV.

A LOVE STORY.

ABEL WESTBROOK was not prepared for the announcement with which Dorcas had startled her. She had expected to hear of a lover and a lover's quarrel, and of Brian as the man who had helped to mar the match; but that this weak, impulsive girl, crying and wringing her hands before her again, should have taken that great step in life which leads to happiness or misery, and knows no neutral ground, was beyond her grasp of thought for the first few moments following the revelation.

"You married, child—you married!" she could only say.

She was sorry, too, and the tears came rushing to her eyes at the thought of all that the marriage implied, She was sure already that trouble had come to Dorcas, possibly repentance for a rash act which there was no undoing, although the cares and griefs of existence were only just beginning. It had been a wild wooing, and the bitter fruit was to be gathered by her who had cast an eternal shadow on her own young life.

But Dorcas was not thinking of herself just then.

"So, you see, the money is his, not mine," she said; "he comes into its possession by a husband's right-the sum not being settled on myself in any way. Adam Halfday did not know that he was leaving me a fortune--did not know I was married -and it depends now upon Michael, and what he will do. And I think, Miss Westbrook, he is to be trusted. Oh, yes, I am sure of it, if you will only give him time to do what is fair and honest. Like me," she added with a short laugh, "he has not had much chance at present.'

"Never mind the money, Tell me of yourself. Who is your husband? what is he? where is he? Why does he keep away from you all this time?"

"He will come for me to-morrow," an"He will be released to

"Well, let me hear them."

"I am married," answered Dorcas Halfday.

morrow."

"Released?"
"Yes-from prison."

Mabel drew a quick breath of surprise.

"What has he done, then ?" she inquired. "Nothing-much," she added quaintly, after a moment's pause," he was a soldier when he first came to St. Lazarus. His uncle was one of the pensioners, and he used to call and see him, and so we met. When grandfather found out that we loved each other, he was angry and told Brian-and Brian did his best to separate us. It was the first thing my brother had ever failed in, and it made him hate us both."

"No, no-don't say that, Dorcas." "We married without grandfather's knowledge-but Brian found it out, of course. He finds out everything."

"And he was angry at your want of confidence at your own rashness," said Mabel, "I am not surprised."

"I said it was hate, not anger," replied Dorcas; "he set himself to find out everything about poor Michael, as if it was his business rather than my own-as if I am not content to be my Michael's wife. But he could not let us be; he discovered that Michael had once deserted from his regiment, as if that mattered now! My husband had been treated badly by the commanding officer, and he ran away, as hundreds have done before him."

"Well ?"

"He was caught and sentenced," continued Dorcas. "It was his first offence, and the court-martial was not hard on him. But after we were married he ran away again. For he had been treated badly again, you must understand."

"And he was caught again?" said Mabel. "Yes, because Brian would not help him -because he could have concealed him in the Museum, till the morning; and he shut the door against him in the streets where he was captured, poor fellow, that very night. There," cried Dorcas, with fresh excitement evidencing itself, "that is the brother you wonder I don't love. You see what a life of misery and suspense he has created for me."

"And what was your husband's second sentence?" asked Mabel, without comment upon Dorcas's last remark.

already been working for-free to show that he is as brave, and honourable, and unselfish as those who have looked down upon him all his life." Oh!

"Meaning your brother again. Dorcas, you are too hard upon your brother."

"Michael will be free," said Dorcas, "and we only ask your confidence for a few short weeks. Will you give it both of us"?

"I do not know your husband, Dorcas," was the answer, 66 but you have my confidence already."

"Have confidence in him, then, for my sake. Take my word for once that the money

"Hush, hush-have we not agreed to let the money question rest?"

"But you are poor-and we are rich by your means. You

"Dorcas, I will hear no more of this." "You will have faith in him," Dorcas urged again, "say-Yes?"

"And you will not leave England for some weeks. Say eight weeks more?"

"I will make no further promises," said Mabel, "only to say that I will not run away to America without fair notice to you and your brother."

"Very well," said Dorcas, with a sigh, “I think that will be enough to promise me just now."

She was silent, until a movement of Mabel's roused her from her reverie.

"You have not forgotten that there are seventy pounds of my grandfather's money towards the expenses which we have to meet ?" said Dorcas, "but it is a sum that will not go very far, and there are heavy legacy duties and probate duties, and so on, which Brian will make good in time out of his own pocket. He told me that himself." "Poor Brian! as if I would rob him of his savings.'

"But--"

"But I will not for ever talk about this money," said Mabel, with a petulant stamp of her little foot, "there will be time enough presently for you and me to consider what is just and right to both of us."

"Very well," said Dorcas, submissively. "Now tell me of your courtship and mar riage. That will be a love story in which I am sure to be interested."

"You are very good to say so." "Does your father know of this marriage?" "I do not know my father yet," she answered, so mournfully that Mabel hastened to change the subject.

"And this soldier husband of yours. How old is he?"

"He was twenty-one last August." "So young," exclaimed Mabel; why, you were boy and girl when you were married." "Almost," said Dorcas, blushing; "but we understood each other's hearts, and did not marry in haste. It was a long courtship for us." "Indeed.

Now tell me all about it." Dorcas was not loth to respond. She had found a sympathetic listener in Mabel Westbrook, who was anxious to read the new love story for herself. It was the first time in Dorcas Halfday's life that she could tell the whole truth of her strong love-it was the first man or woman who had ever cared to hear her. There was an outburst of confidence at once-the first, natural, unrestrained confidence of girlhood, which had in Dorcas been ever checked by the grave matter-of-fact minds about her.

It was a common-place love story, with which we have no occasion to trouble the reader in detail, but Dorcas spoke of it as a strange romance, and painted her love in those glowing colours which love ever gives to the fancy-picture it reveres.

A chance meeting leading on to appointments, to affection, and then discovery precipitating a crisis, that, with more tact and consideration, might have been avoided. A foolish and a secret marriage—a husband soldier-a deserter-a story that might have ended miserably, even tragically, and the sequel of which was still difficult to guess at.

This latter thought crossed Mabel Westbrook's mind, not that of the girl by her side, with her soul in her confession. To Dorcas this was the end of all trials and temptations, and the beginning of the bliss to which she had looked forward and wondered when it would come about, and in what guise. Here was the romance which her brother would have marred, and it was ending pleasantly and brightly, and with a happy-ever-afterwards denouement. There were no doubts to cross her, and the faith she had had in the boy-lover remained with the young husband whom she was to meet again to-morrow.

"Of whom?"

"Mr. Angelo Salmon, and the night when he came here. You are beginning to wonder where he is, and why he has not been to see you since. Oh! Miss Westbrook, if you don't mind my saying so, I am sure you love him," said Dorcas, timidly, and as if expectant of a tender revelation in return for her own.

"Hush, hush, Dorcas; I was not thinking of Mr. Salmon. I am never likely to fall in love with him-I respect him too much," she added, almost satirically.

"You would not love anybody you did not" began Dorcas, in a wondering tone, before she broke into a merry laugh, and said, "ah! you are jesting with me. I am so pleased to see your smiles again."

"Have I not been smiling lately?" "Not in the old bright way, I fancy." "Perhaps not," said Mabel, in reply. "But I did not know you were keeping a careful watch over me. However, Dorcas, I am not grieving for the absence of any man."

"But you miss Mr. Salmon, a little-do you not?" asked the pertinacious girl. "I should miss any friend a little," answered Mabel, even though I recommended him to go away for a while." "Yes, as you did Mr. Salmon. But"And we will talk no more of this, Dorcas," said Mabel, interrupting her. "The hour is late, and you have business of importance to transact to-morrow. Where do you meet your brother? At the Museum ?—or,"

"At the Museum," answered Dorcas. Mabel asked no further questions, and Dorcas gathered her letters together preparatory to departure. When she was ready, she dropped suddenly on her knees before her mistress, and said,

"I have not been so bad a girl, have I ?" "No, child, no."

"A little wilful-perhaps a deal too much so; but never meaning any harm ; and only loving my Michael too well."

"He and you will love each other too well, I hope, to the end of your lives," said Mabel. There, good night."

66

"Good night. And you will trust me and him?"

"Yes."

"Whatever Brian may say presently-to trust us," said Dorcas, "and think the best of us. God bless you, Miss Mabel, and make you as happy as myself. For all past kindness, interest in me, love for me-let me say love !—I give you the thanks of my heart."

"That sounds like a farewell, Dorcas." "No, no-not yet," answered Dorcas, as she rose from her knees, and, after a sudden kiss on Mabel's cheek, went quickly from the room.

D

CHAPTER XV.

BRIAN BRINGS THE NEWS.

ORCAS HALFDAY left early the next morning to keep her appointment with her brother. There was to be a preliminary conference in Brian's room at the Museum-a last ordeal for Dorcas, perhaps before they met the solicitor at the district registry at Penton, and a cer tain Michael Sewell stepped from his soldier's cell into the foreground, and took his rich young wife to his arms. She did not go away in high spirits; only two deep red spots on her cheeks were evidence of the excitement which it had become her task to suppress. She scarcely spoke to Mabel. Strangely enough, with the morning following her confession there seemed to have arisen an embarrassing reserve. A few words from Mabel would have broken through this, but Mabel did not speak them.

herself; and it was only when Dorcas was on the point of departure that the old confidence was shown. Dorcas Halfday was as white as a ghost then.

"I am going," she said, very slowly, and in a low voice. "Have you anything more to say to me?"

"No, Dorcas. Except," Mabel added suddenly, "that I would be calm and patient in your place to-day."

"It is hardly possible."

"I hope you will not return to me and say you have exchanged hard words with your brother," Mabel said.

"I will put up with all his reproaches, if you wish it," answered Dorcas, submissively. "I wish it. But why should he reproach you?"

"He will reproach all of us," replied Dorcas, "the lawyer, Michael, and myself. He will tell us we are all that is bad; but I will not say a word in reply. I have promised you."

She put both her hands in Mabel's, and looked wistfully at her again.

"You remember all that I said last night, Miss Mabel?"

"Yes."

"And all you have promised, too?" "Yes," said Mabel, for the second time, "Thank you," she answered, with strange humility.

Mabel regarded her curiously, and Dorcas looked away from her, as if afraid to meet her gaze.

"Have you anything more to say to me?" Mabel asked. "Is there lurking behind all this complication, the shadow of another mystery?"

"Why should you think that?" "You look disturbed."

"Heaven only knows what is lurking in the background; but I have said that I have faith in its being happiness. Pray believe as I do," she cried, with all her old impulsiveness.

"Very well, Dorcas, I will try." "Good-bye."

"Thank you for saying as much to meat the last, like this."

Then Dorcas kissed her, and Mabel saw that there were tears brimming in her eyes. She did not trouble Dorcas with a repetition of a question to which an answer somewhat evasive had been returned; she would leave it to a more fitting opportunity. On the brink of her good fortune, Brian's sister was hardly herself, and the time was not ripe to question her too closely. Dorcas's life was beginning in earnest for the first time. The husband was returning in the golden sunrise, and the heaven above them was radiant with glorious colouring. The sun was in her eyes, and this poor being was dazzled and blinded by it, and could not see her way yet. The hour was unfitting to solve new mysteries, or to grow suspicious that the old had not been fully explained. Let Mabel Westbrook believe as Dorcas did, if it were possible. She had promised to try.

doubtfully. She had no thought of the money coming back by any means, into her possession, and an allusion to it now displeased her, as the reader is aware.

Dorcas went into the high-road and joined Peter Scone, and in this singular company she turned her back upon the home which she had shared with Mabel Westbrook. Mabel watched the meeting, even faintly responded to the raising of Peter Scone's hat, a large hard hat, which he wore on special occasions, and when off duty at St. Lazarus, and then closed the door and returned to her little sitting-room.

"What will be the end of this?" Mabel said to herself, "and what am I waiting for, I wonder? Surely something strange will find its way here before the day is out."

Mabel Westbrook, like most women, it is evident, had her superstitious moments, although it was natural that Dorcas's half confidence should give her mental food for speculation. Dorcas had asked for implicit

Mabel began to consider, but then Dorcas was unlike other women, and had had a strange world of her own to grow up in. Mabel did not distrust her, at all events, and she had the patience to wait, she thought, until Dorcas returned, and threw more light upon the antecedents.

She was not quite certain as to the amount of patience she possessed when the day had passed, and the shadows of the autumn night were upon her. She had expected Dorcas home before the evening. Her husband would have to return to the barracks, and the brother's company had never been desirable; and when it was striking nine by a little time-piece on the mantel-shelf, Mabel grew uneasy, and for the first time, doubtful, whether she should look upon the face of her young companion again. Dorcas's impulse of the preceding evening, her reserve before quitting the house that morning, suggested at last a new and strong suspicion, which the deepening night only helped to strengthen.

There was a knock at the door at last, and Mabel took courage from it, although it was a noisy summons, and unlike Dorcas's general appeal for admittance to the establishment. Mabel Westbrook was overanxious she rose and peeped into the narrow passage as the landlady opened the

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