ined, woman; and though she said very little about
gratitude, it showed in every glance, in the very tone of her voice, and
in her ready obedience to whatever wish Katherine expressed. The
greatest sacrifice was evidently compliance with her new friend's
suggestion that she should take exercise and breathe fresh air.

Miss Payne, after critically examining Katherine's new garment, declared
it really well made, inquired the cost, and finally decided that she
would have an every-day dress for herself, and that "Miss Trant" should
make it up. Then Katherine presented the elegant young woman who waited
on her with a gown, promising to pay for the making if she employed her
protegee.

"Miss Trant" could not conceal her reluctance to come so far from the
wilds of Camden Town; but she came, closely muffled in a thick gauze
veil, doubtless to guard against cold in the chill March evening.
Katherine was immensely pleased to find that both gowns gave
satisfaction, though the "elegant young woman's" praise was cautious and
qualified.

CHAPTER XIII.

RECOGNITION.

"After all, life is inexhaustible," said Katherine.

She was speaking to Rachel Trant, who had laid aside her work to speak
with the good friend who had come, as she often did, to see how she was
going on and to cheer her.

"Life is very cruel," she returned. "Neither sorrow nor repentance can
alter its pitiless law.

"Still, there are compensations." Katherine did not exactly think what
she was saying; her mind was filled with the desire of knowing her
interlocutor's story.

"Compensations!" echoed Rachel. "Not for those who deserve to suffer,
nor, indeed, often for the innocent. I don't think we often find vice
punished and virtue rewarded in history and lives--true stories, I
mean--as we do in novels."

Katherine did not reply at once; she thought for a moment, and then,
looking full into Rachel's eyes, said: "I wonder how you came to be a
dressmaker? You have read a great deal for a girl who must have had her
hands full all day. I am not asking this from idle curiosity, but from
real interest."

"I may well believe you. I should like to tell you much; but--" She
paused and grew very white for a second, her lips trembling, and a
troubled look coming into her eyes. "I always loved reading," she
resumed; "it has been almost my only pleasure, though I was apprenticed
to a milliner and dressmaker when little more than sixteen. Then I went
to work wi