ng glance, the other with a startled face as if she read
something new and to be feared, in the eye of her friend.

Claire had been an inmate of her sister's house for four weeks. When
first she arrived, she had heard Madeline's story, at Madeline's
request, from the lips of her sister Olive, and now the girls were
fast friends. Generous Claire had found much to wonder at, to pity and
to love, in the story and the character of the unfortunate girl.
Possessing a frank, sunshiny nature, and never having known an actual
grief, she could lavish sweet sympathy to one afflicted. But she could
not conceive what it would be like to live on when faith had perished
and hope was a mockery. She had never known, therefore never missed, a
father's love and care. Indeed, he who filled the place of father and
guardian, her mother's second husband, was all that a real parent
could be. Claire seldom remembered that Mr. James Keith was not her
father, and very few, except the family of Keith, knew that "Miss
Claire Keith, daughter of the rich James Keith, of Baltimore," was in
truth only a step-daughter.

Mrs. Keith, whose first husband was Richard Keith, cashier in his
wealthy cousin's banking house, had buried that husband when Olive was
five years old, and baby Claire scarce able to lisp his name. In a
little less than two years she had married James Keith, the
banker-cousin, and shortly after the marriage, James Keith had
transferred his business interests to Baltimore, and there remained.

So Claire's baby brothers had never been told that she was not their
"very own" sister, for of Olive they knew little, her marriage having
separated them at first, and subsequently her obdurate acceptance of
the consequences of that marriage.

When the law pronounced her husband a criminal, Mr. Keith had
commanded Olive to abandon both husband and home, and return to his
protection. This, true-hearted Olive refused to do. Her step-father,
enraged at her obstinacy in clinging to a man who had been forsaken by
all the world beside, bade her choose between them. Either she must
let the law finish its work of breaking Philip Girard's heart by
setting her free, or she must accept the consequences of remaining the
wife of a criminal.

Olive chose the latter, and thenceforth remained in her own lonely
home, never even once visiting the place of her childhood.

"He called my husband a criminal," she said, "and I will never cross
his threshold until