hem, her face had been so full of sweet peacefulness. "Dorothy's
influence has been the one for good, not mine," Marion thought, with
that true humility which is a Christian grace. As for Gladys, why she
was Gladys, and there was no one like her. So generous and noble, so
true and faithful; I must learn of her surely, not she of me; but
Susan! It must be confessed, that in the busy days Marion had almost
forgotten Susan's dishonesty. She did not like her, often she found it
hard to be even patient, much less kind, to her, and Susan was
sometimes very trying. She could, and did, say many unkind words,
"spites me," Marion said to herself; but generally bore the ill-humor
pityingly, feeling sorry for a girl who could do as Susan had done.
The fact was, that while Marion did not have Susan's guilt often in
her mind, Susan never forgot it when she saw Marion. _Never_ may be
too strong a word to use; but Susan was constantly uneasy in Marion's
company, often positively unhappy, wishing over and over again she had
never heard of "Storied West Rock," especially never, never been
tempted to steal that story, and palm it off for her own.

Not a day of her life but she expected to be found out, to be
disgraced before the school, perhaps to be expelled. Poor Susan! she
is reaping now the result of her selfish lifetime ambition to be among
the noted ones, to be thought of first, and treated like a heroine!
Ambition is a very laudable thing; we should all try to do our best,
but never should it lead us into doing selfish, mean, dishonorable
things; then it becomes a sin and not a virtue.

It was the weakness, nay, something worse, in Susan's character, as we
all know, always leading her into trouble, because it was so wholly
selfish.

If Marion could have reasoned all this out as we can, she would have
had fewer compunctions of conscience as she sat holding her mother's
letter in her hand, thinking over its contents.

It was some time before she could fully enjoy all the items of family
news it contained. Then they drew her pleasantly back to the dear
home, the small parish, and the life-long friends she had left there.

Gladys had been watching her as she read the letter, amused and
interested by the different phases of feeling her face showed; when
she saw her fold it up, she asked,--

"What's happened, Marion? You've looked as if you had been at a
funeral, and then at a wedding, while you were reading it."

"I have--almost