rd, "has
pressed me to remain here longer."

She went away smiling and satisfied, and I went wondering back to my
room to hear Rachel's story.

I found her standing, as pale as a ghost, at my window, which commanded
a view of the approach to the house. Looking over her shoulder, I saw
Mrs. Hollingford's black robe disappearing among the trees.

"Now, Rachel," I said--"now for your story. I have done what you bid me.
I am going to stay with you. Trust me with everything, I am full of
anxiety and wonder."

But at that moment a messenger came to the door seeking Miss Leonard.
Mr. Noble was waiting for her to walk with him.

Rachel flushed at the summons.

"Do not go; send him word that you are engaged--what can it matter?" I
said eagerly.

"No, no," said Rachel confusedly. "You must excuse me now, Margery. I
must go. Have patience with me, dear," she added wistfully. "I will come
to your room to-night."

And she went away sadly.

She came to me that night surely. She asked me to put out the lights,
and crouching on a low seat by the fire, she told me her story.

"Do not ask me to look in your face till I have done," she said, "but
let me hold your hand, and whenever you are too much disgusted and
sickened with me to hear me any longer draw away your hand, that I may
know."

Poor Rachel! that was what she said in beginning. I will tell you her
history as nearly as possible in the way that she related it, but I
cannot now recollect, and it were useless to repeat one half the bitter
words of self-condemnation which she used.

* * * * *

When quite a little girl (she said) I was sent to a school in Paris. Oh,
why did my mother send me so early from her side? It was a worldly
school--worldly to the last degree. I learned chiefly to think that in
proportion as my father was honoured and wealthy, my friends gay and
extravagant, just so were my chances of happiness in life. I had
handsome clothes and rich presents, and I was a great favourite.

There was a lady, a friend of my father's, who lived in Paris, and who
had liberty to take me for holidays to her house as often as she
pleased. She made a pet of me, and I spent at least half my time in her
carriage or her salon. She had charming toilettes prepared for me, which
I was enchanted to wear. Thus I was early introduced to the gay world of
Paris, and learned its lessons of folly and vanity by heart. I can
remember myself dressed