an get from her, although at their hearts they do not care to be
intimate with her. But then money covers a multitude of sins. And a great
many crimes may be glossed over if we are only rich enough and popular
enough, and sufficiently the fashion.

As to Denis Wilde, he was young, and in time he got over it and married
an amiable young lady who bore him three children and loved him
devotedly, so that after a while he forgot his first love.

Shadonake Bath has been drained. Mr. Miller has at last been allowed to
have his own way about it. It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good,
and there could be found no voice to plead for its preservation after
that terrible tragedy of which it was the scene.

So the old steps have all been cleared away, and brick walls line the
straight deep sides, whereon grow the finest peaches and nectarines in
the county, whilst a parterre of British Queens and Hautboys cover the
spot where Vera died with their rich red fruit and their luxuriant
foliage.

And at Sutton things go on much the same as of old. Old Mrs. Daintree is
dead, and no one sorrowed much for her loss, whilst the domestic harmony
is decidedly enhanced by her absence. Tommy and Minnie are growing big
and lanky, and the subject of schools and education is beginning to
occupy the minds of Marion and her husband.

But the vicar has grown grey and old; his back is more bent and his face
more careworn than it used to be. He has never been quite the same since
Vera's death.

There is a white marble monument in the middle of the chancel, raised by
the loving hands of two brothers far away in Australia. It is by the best
sculptor of the day, and on it lies a pale white figure, with a pure
delicate profile, and hands always meekly crossed upon the bosom.

Every Sunday, as Eustace Daintree passes from his place at the
reading-desk up to the altar to read the Communion Service, there falls
upon it a streak of sunshine from the painted window above, which he
himself and his wife had put up to her memory, lighting up the pale
marble image with a chequered glory of gold and crimson. And the vicar's
eye as he passes alights for a moment with a never-dying sadness upon the
simple words carved at the foot of her tomb--

Vera Nevill, aged 23.

AT PEACE.

* * * * *

MRS. CAMERON'S NOVELS.

Jack's Secret.

A Sister's Sin.

A Lost Wife.

The Cost of a Lie.

This Wicked World.

A Devout