up to Molly and clutched her arm with feverish force.

"Oh, Molly," she gasped, "how can I bear it? my worst, worst fears are
realised. My father is going to marry again."

These words gave Molly a shock; she turned quite white for a moment.

"Hester," she said, "oh, Hester, and I remember your mother, your sweet
mother. I was only a very little girl when I saw her last. She was ill
at the time and she died soon afterwards, but I cannot forget her face
nor her words; she seemed something like an angel."

"So she was," said Hester. "A beautiful, dear angel--too good for this
world."

Hester's courage gave way; she began to sob brokenly.

"Come into the field at the back of the house," said Molly; "we'll be
quite alone there, and then you can tell me everything and I can tell
you everything."

"Oh, have you bad news too?" said Hester. "Annie seemed to think you
had; she said your face was blotchy, and that Nora had been crying. Oh,
Molly dear, Molly dear, how selfish I am; I have been absolutely
swallowed up in this dark cloud, and can think of no one but myself. I
notice now how red your eyes are, and how sad your mouth. Poor, dear
Molly, what is it? Is Nell really ill? Was that why you did not come
back with us last night?"

"It isn't Nell," said Molly in a trembling voice; "it's--Hester--it's
what we feared. We had a letter from mother this morning, and it's all
over--it's all over, Hetty--the Towers is sold."

"And my father is going to marry again," said Hester; "it seems to me as
if the world were turning topsy-turvey. Oh, Molly, what are we both to
do?"

"Jane Macalister would say that we are not to think of ourselves," said
Molly with a wan attempt at a smile, "but somehow I don't feel like
following her advice just at present."

"Nor I either," replied Hester; "I never, never in the whole course of
my life felt more horrid and wicked, and rebellious, and selfish."

CHAPTER XX.

THE NEW OWNERS.

It is surprising how soon, at least when we are young, the greater
number of us get accustomed to things. The news of the sale of the
Towers, and of Sir John Thornton's approaching marriage, had electrified
the Lorrimers and the Thorntons on Thursday. Had electrified them to
such a degree that even the common observances of life seemed queer and
out of place. It seemed wrong to eat when one was hungry; inhuman to
smile; and even when one was sleepy, it seemed necessary to go to bed
with a sort of