of the day kept crowding in upon her, the story of the lights
in the old wing, and running through all was the disquieting thought
that to-morrow she must go to the baker's daughter and say that she was
sorry. It seemed to Marjory that it would be very hard, and yet she felt
sure that it was the right thing to do. Had not Mrs. Forester said so?
and had not her own conscience told her so? Still, she dreaded the doing
of it, for Marjory was proud as well as very shy, and Mary Ann's unkind
words still rankled in her memory. She had yet to learn that the
punishment of offences against us, great or small, lies in other hands
than ours, and that absolute justice is watching over the affairs of
men--that each action, good or evil, bears its own fruit. Thinking over
Mrs. Forester's words, a dim realization came to her of that great
truth, which, once grasped, brings calm trust and faith--the truth which
promises that obedience to the voice of conscience keeps the soul in
harmony with its Creator, so that outward circumstances cannot really
harm or hurt. Marjory was but a young girl, with no experience, yet she
knew this voice--she knew that obedience to it or disobedience meant
either happiness or unhappiness inside herself, as she expressed it; but
to-night, for the first time, she felt something of that trust in
perfect justice which gives peace within, and she gradually began to
lose the feeling of resentment against Mary Ann, and to feel that what
she had to think of, and was responsible for, was her own behaviour--she
must answer for her own thoughts and words.

She set out bravely the next day with Mrs. Forester and Blanche. Her
heart beat very quickly as the carriage stopped at the post office.

"Why, Mary Ann, if this is no Hunter's Marjory in the carriage with thae
new folks frae Braeside," exclaimed Mrs. Smylie to her daughter as she
saw the party arrive. "After a' I telt the leddy yesterday too."

Marjory came into the post office alone.

"Good-afternoon, Mrs. Smylie," she said shyly. "Can I see Mary Ann?"

Mrs. Smylie did not return her greeting, and without looking up from
the stamp desk called to Mary Ann.

"What is it?" cried Mary Ann from the parlour behind the shop.

"Come an' see," was her mother's reply. "_I_ canna tell ye."

Mary Ann came sauntering into the shop. When she saw Marjory she stopped
and stared.

"Hallo!" she said mockingly. "Want some more of what you had last time?"

Marjory flushed,