all tatters."

A sudden thought came to Bernardine, and she acted on the impulse.

"Here," she said, pulling out her pocket-book--"here is ten dollars. Get
a dress, and try to find work. The money is not a loan; it is a gift."

The girl had hardly heard the words, ere a cry of amazement fell from
her lips. She was eyeing the well-filled pocket-book with a burning
gaze.

CHAPTER XXXII.

The girl took the money which Bernardine handed to her, her eyes
following every movement of the white hand that placed the wallet back
in her pocket.

"You must be rich to have so much money about you," she said, slowly,
with a laugh that grated harshly on Bernardine's sensitive ears.

"It is not mine," said Bernardine, simply; "it is my husband's, and
represents all the years of toil he has worked, and all the rigid
economy he has practiced."

The girl looked at her keenly. Could it be that she was simple enough to
believe that the man who had deserted her so cruelly had _married_ her?
Well, let her believe what she chose, it was no business of hers.

The bowl of bread and milk and the cup of tea were sent up to
Bernardine, and she disposed of them with a heartiness that amused her
companion.

"I am afraid you will not sleep well after eating so late," she said,
with a great deal of anxiety in her voice.

"I shall rest all the better for taking the hot milk. I fall asleep
generally as soon as my head touches the pillow, and I do not wake until
the next morning. Why, if the house tumbled down around me, I believe
that I would not know it. I will remove my jacket, to keep it from
wrinkling."

This information seemed to please her companion. She breathed a sigh of
relief, and an ominous glitter crept into her small black eyes.

"But I do not want to go to sleep to-night," added Bernardine in the
next breath. "I shall sit by the window, with my face pressed against
the pane, watching for my--my husband."

Her companion, who had introduced herself as Margery Brown, cried out
hastily:

"Don't do that. You will look like a washed-out, wilted flower by
to-morrow, if you do, and your--your husband won't like that. Men only
care for women when they are fresh and fair. Go to bed, and I will sit
up and watch for you, and wake you when he comes; though it's my
opinion he won't come until to-morrow, for fear of disturbing you."

But Bernardine was firm in her resolve.

"He may come any minute," she persisted, drawing he