but
differed so seriously that I cried, and had to give up, too," she
said. "I wanted you for bridesmaid, and, do you think, he objected!
Not objected to you, but to bridesmaids generally, and he carried his
point, so that unless Fanny is married at the same time, as, perhaps,
she will be, we are just to stand up stiff and straight alone, except
as you'll all be round me in the aisle. You'll be well by that time,
and I want you very near to me," Lucy said, squeezing fondly the icy
hand whose coldness made her start and exclaim:

"Why, Anna, how cold you are, and how pale you are looking! You have
been so sick, and I am well. It don't seem quite right, does it? And
Arthur, too, is looking thin and worn--so thin that I have coaxed him
to raise whiskers to cover the hollows in his cheeks. He looks a heap
better now, though he was always handsome. I do so wonder that you two
never fell in love, and I tell him so most every time I see him."

It was terrible to Anna to sit and hear all this, and the room grew
dark as she listened; but she forced back her pain, and, stroking the
curly head almost resting in her lap, said kindly:

"You love him very much, don't you, darling; so much that it would be
hard to give him up?"

"Yes; oh, yes. I could not give him up now, except to God. I trust I
could do that, though once I could not, I am sure," and, nestling
closer to Anna, Lucy whispered to her of the new-born hope that she
was better than she used to be, that daily interviews with Arthur had
not been without their effect, and now, she trusted, she tried to do
right, from a higher motive than just the pleasing of him.

"God bless you, darling," was Anna's response, as she clasped the
hand of the young girl who was now far more worthy to be Arthur's wife
than once she had been.

If Anna ever had a thought of telling Arthur, it would have been put
aside by that interview with Lucy. She could not harm that pure,
loving, trusting girl, and she sent her from her with a kiss and
blessing, praying silently that she might never know a shadow of the
pain which she was suffering.

CHAPTER X.

MRS. MEREDITH HAS A CONSCIENCE.

She had one, years before, but, since the summer day when she sent
from her the white-faced man whose heart she had broken, it had been
hardening over with a stony crust which nothing, it seemed, could
break. And yet there were times when she was softened and wished that
much which she had done might