madversions do fall on my devoted head, it will only
keep them busy, and do me no real harm."

"But I want to know, child," said the elder lady, giving her a glance of
motherly tenderness, "for I am interested both in your past and future,
and I am anxious to learn just what your former life has been." And
Clemence told her the simple truth of the happy years that were now
vanished forever.

CHAPTER XI.

"What shall I do now?" asked Clemence of her friend, Mrs. Hardyng, as
they sat together in the parlor of the latter's residence. "My income
has stopped entirely, and I shall have but a small sum after settling
Ruth's board, which I must do soon, for I cannot leave her any longer
with Mrs. Swan."

"Why!" questioned her friend, "has she, too, gone over to the enemy?"

"Oh, no," replied Clemence; "she is still a staunch adherent. It was not
that I had in my mind, but I have been looking into my affairs lately,
and have decided that, as I can plainly do nothing here, I had better go
back to the city at once."

"And what will you do there?" queried the listener. "Excuse the liberty,
but I would like to ask, from no motive of idle curiosity, you may feel
sure, if you have any friends there?"

"None but good Mrs. Linden, and I have no claim upon her, although she
bade me come to her as to a mother, when I was weary of this
'experiment,' as she called it. I only thought she might help me to
obtain employment, and give me some advice and assistance about Ruth."

"And cannot I do both?" asked Ulrica Hardyng, sorrowfully. "Clemence,
you must surely think more of this former friend than you can of me,
since you will intrust her alone with the privilege I would give so much
to share. You have told me that this Mrs. Linden is a self-absorbed
woman, sufficient unto herself, while I am only a heart-broken creature,
isolated completely from those who were once dear to me. Shall I tell
you how I have watched and waited for this hour, when I could be of some
assistance to you, and thus bind you closer to me? Oh, I have dreamed
too long of this happiness, to have it elude my grasp. You cannot deny
me the boon of having some one again to love."

"But is it my duty, dear friend, to lay my burden upon you? Since I have
voluntarily taken it upon myself, ought I not to bear it cheerfully,
having faith that all things will work together for my good, if I only
trust Him, 'who seeth in secret?'"

"It cannot be wrong," said the