gazing sullenly out at the dismal
night for upwards of an hour, in all that time hardly moving. Presently
there was a tap at the door, and an instant after, it opened, and a
smart young person entered and began briskly laying the cloth for
supper. The young person was the landlady's daughter, and the girl at
the window only gave her one glance, and then turned unsocially away.

"Ain't you lonesome here, Mrs. Stanford, all alone by yourself?" asked
the young person, as she lit the lamp. "Mother says it must be awful
dull for you, with Mr. Stanford away all the time."

"I am pretty well used to it," answered Mrs. Stanford, bitterly. "I
ought to be reconciled to it by this time. Is it after seven?"

"Yes, ma'am. Mr. Stanford comes home at seven, don't he? He ought to be
here soon, now. Mother says she wishes you would come down to the
parlour and sit with us of a day, instead of being moped up here."

Mrs. Stanford made no reply whatever to this good-natured speech, and
the sulky expression seemed to deepen on her face. The young person,
finished setting the table, and was briskly departing, when Mrs.
Stanford's voice arrested her.

"If Mr. Stanford is not here in half an hour, you can bring up dinner."

As Mrs. Stanford spoke, the pink infant in the crib awoke and set up a
dismal wail. The young mother arose, with an impatient sigh, lifted the
babe, and sat down in a low nurse-chair, to soothe it to sleep again.
But the baby was fretful, and cried and moaned drearily, and resisted
every effort to be soothed to sleep.

"Oh, dear, dear!" Rose cried, impatiently, giving it an irritated shake.
"What a torment you are! What a trouble and wretchedness everything is!"

She swayed to and fro in her rocking-chair, humming drearily some
melancholy air, until, by-and-by, baby, worn out, wailingly dropped off
asleep again in her arms.

As it did so, the door opened a second time, and the brisk young person
entered with the first course. Mrs. Stanford placed her first-born back
in the crib, and sat down to her solitary dinner. She ate very little.
The lodging-house soups and roasts had never been so distasteful before.
She pushed the things away, with a feeling of loathing, and went back to
her low chair, and fell into a train of dismal misery. Her thoughts went
back to Canada to her happy home at Danton Hall.

Only one little year ago she had given the world for love, and thought
it well lost--and now! Love's young dream,