hat sunny scene, and she
saw no beauty in it.

'I have loved this place well, Guardy--loved and longed for it. It has
been an idol to me, and my punishment is here. I wish I had never seen
it. I wish I had never left the city, never been parted from the old
friends. I am a miserable woman. I wish I had never been born.'

With a quick gesture she let the curtain drop, and throwing herself on
the end of the couch, buried her face in the pillows.

Here again it was Miss Peck's privilege to administer some crumbs of
comfort to the sad heart of the woman, even as she had once comforted
the child. Stooping over her, she laid her hand tenderly on the bent
golden head.

'My dear, it is not yet too late. If you do not love this man, it will
be a great sin to marry him--a wrong done to yourself and to him. If
there is a chord in your heart responsive to Walter's, don't stifle it.
What is anything in this world in comparison with happiness and peace of
mind?'

'Nothing, nothing,' Gladys answered, with mournful bitterness. 'But it
is too late. It is Walter's fault, not mine; he left me in my
desolation, when I needed him most. I did everything I could to show him
that I could never forget him, and he repulsed me every time, until it
was too late. If he is unhappy, it is no more than he deserves, and I am
not going to be so dishonourable as to draw back now from my plighted
word. George has always been kind to me, he has never hurt my feelings,
and I will try and repay him by being to him a good and faithful wife.'

'A good and faithful wife!'

The little spinster repeated these words in a half-mournful whisper, as
she walked slowly to and fro the room.

Ah, not thus was it meet for a heart like Gladys Graham's to anticipate
the most momentous crisis of a woman's life. She felt powerless to
help, but Heaven was still the Hearer and Answerer of prayer, and with
Heaven Miss Peck left the case.

She prayed that her darling's way might be opened up, and that she might
be saved from committing so great a wrong, which would bring upon her
the curse of a loveless marriage.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE MAGDALENE.

Summer seemed no longer to smile upon Bourhill. That sunny evening was
the last for many days. A wild, chill, wintry blast ushered in
September, if the Lammas spates had tarried, when they came they brought
destruction in their train. All over the country the harvest was
endangered, in low-lying pl