ith pain, but I could
think of nothing to say to her. I felt that she thought I had been false
to John, and that her sympathy for him had stirred all the latent
bitterness of her nature.

"And how is the young lady at the Hall?" she asked suddenly.

"Do you mean Miss Leonard?" I said.

"Oh, yes--Miss Leonard," said Jane, dropping her eyes on the floor with
a strange look.

"Very well," I answered, thinking of the jubilee that was going on at
the Hall.

"There is more wickedness in the world than mine," said Jane still
frowning at the carpet. "She is false, and you are false--every one is
false. I only know of two grand souls in the world--my mother and John.
But the wicked ones will prosper, see if they don't--those who are gay
and charming, at least. Bad ones like me go down like a stone, and lie
at the bottom."

At this moment an eager treble voice was heard on the stairs, and the
next Mopsie and I were crying, with our heads together, on the lobby.

"Oh, Margery, Margery!" sobbed the little one--"dear, darling, _sweet_
Margery! why are you going away? You promised you would always stay. Oh,
oh, Margery!"

An hour passed before I could tear myself away from the child. Jane
prepared luncheon, which was not eaten; but she did not attempt to share
in our sorrow and caresses. When I turned from the door Mopsie was
prostrate, weeping on the mat; and Jane was standing upright in the
doorway, straight, stern, and pale. So I went sorrowing back to the
Hall. And I had not seen Mrs. Hollingford.

Had I seen her that day, had her errand of mercy not taken her away from
her home and kept her away while I stayed, the whole current of my life
and of the lives of others might have been changed. She would then have
had no reason to come and visit me the next morning at the Hall, as she
did.

I was busy packing in my own room, enlivening my work by humming gay
airs, just to make-believe to myself that I was very merry at the
prospect of my visit to London. The door opened quickly, and Rachel came
in, walking on tiptoe, with her hand to her lips in trepidation. Her
face was as pale as snow, and large tears stood in her eyes.

"My mother, my mother!" she said like one talking in her sleep. "I have
seen my mother."

"What do you mean, Rachel?" I cried quite panic-stricken; for I thought
that her mother was dead, and she must have seen a ghost.

"My mother--Mrs. Hollingford; you know her; you are her true daughter; I
am