r hearts, Lettice's bitterness of feeling towards her
brother disappeared, and Sydney felt vaguely comforted in his trouble by
her sympathy.

She did not tell him of the strange marriage-scene which she had
witnessed the day before--when Milly, almost hysterical from
over-wrought feeling, had vowed to be a true and faithful wife to the
man who had pitied and succored her in the time of her sorest need: of
Johnson's stolid demeanor, covering a totally unexpected fund of
good-feeling and romance; or of his extraordinary desire, which Lettice
had seen carried out, that the baby should be present at its mother's
wedding, and should receive--poor little mite--a fatherly kiss from him
as soon as he had kissed the forlorn and trembling bride. For Milly,
although she professed to like and respect Michael Johnson, shrank
somewhat from the prospect of life in another country, and was nervous
and excitable to a degree which rather alarmed her mistress. Lettice
confessed on reflection, however, that Johnson knew exactly how to
manage poor little Milly; and that he had called smiles to her face in
the very midst of a last flood of tears; and that she had no fear for
the girl's ultimate happiness. Johnson had behaved in a very
straightforward, manly and considerate way; and in new surroundings, in
a new country, with a kind husband and good prospects, Milly was likely
to lead a very happy and comfortable life. Lettice was glad to think so;
and was more sorry to see the baby go than to part from Milly. Indeed,
she had offered to adopt it; but Johnson was so indignant, and Milly so
tearful, at the idea, that she had been forced to relinquish her desire.
All this, however, she withheld from Sydney; as also her expedition to
the station to see the little party start for Liverpool, and Milly's
grief at parting with the forbearing mistress whom she had once
deceived, and who had been, after all, her truest friend.

* * * * *

Nan began, very slowly, but surely, to amend; and Sydney, going back to
his usual pursuits, seemed busier than ever.

But, in spite of himself, he was haunted night and day by the fear of
what would happen next; of what Nan meant to do when she grew strong.
Would she ever forgive him? And if she did not forgive him, what would
she do? Tell the whole story to Sir John, and insist on returning to her
brother's house? That would be an extreme thing, and Sir John--who was a
man of the wo