hat I have done," Mrs. Randall replied. "I
dare not tell him. Oh, it is terrible to have to bear this burden
alone!"

Glancing out of the window, Mrs. Hampton saw Randall beneath the tree.
She knew that some day the truth would have to be told, and no time
seemed as opportune as now. It could not be delayed much longer, she
felt certain, and the sooner the revelation was made the better it
would be.

"Your husband is all alone," she remarked, turning to her visitor.
"Suppose we go and sit with him for a while. I have some sewing to do,
and it will be much nicer out there than in the house."

Mr. Randall smiled as the women came and sat down by his side. He was
pleased to see his wife looking better than she had for years. The
city paper, which had arrived at noon, was lying unopened on a little
table by his side which Jess had placed there to hold the books and
cigars which she hoped he would use. She had left him to go with John
and the hired man into the hay field. She was never happier than when
out in the open, and John was always delighted to have her with him.
Their hearts were full of love, and the world seemed filled with peace
and joy on this beautiful summer afternoon.

As the two women sat under the shade of the tree and talked, Mr.
Randall listened for a while in a somewhat absent-minded manner. At
length be reached out his hand and took the newspaper from off the
table. He read first the financial news which interested him most of
all. Then he turned over the pages and glanced carelessly at the
events of the day. The various accounts of political meetings,
murders, and local incidents had little or no appeal to him, and he was
about to lay the paper aside when something caught his eye, which
arrested his immediate attention, and caused an exclamation of surprise
to escape his lips.

"What is it, Henry?" his wife asked. "Anything special?"

"I should say there is," was the emphatic reply. "Donaster has been
arrested for forgery."

Mrs. Randall gave a startled cry, and leaned excitedly forward.

"Arrested!" she exclaimed. "How terrible!"

"Yes, it certainly is," Randall replied, as he rapidly scanned the
article. "He is not the son of Lord Donaster, for there is no such
person by that name. That fellow is an impostor, and his father is a
shoemaker in the United States. His real name, so this paper says, is
William Lukie, and the police have been on his tracks for some time for
fo