ight!" she cried, as we rolled away up the avenue. "An outrage like
this can never be forgiven. But God knows I thought myself justified in
my suspicions. If you knew--"

"I do know," I interposed. "Mary acknowledges that the circumstantial
evidence against her was so overwhelming, she was almost staggered
herself, asking if she could be guiltless with such proofs against her.
But----"

"Wait, oh, wait; did Mary say that?"

"Yes."

"To-day?"

"Yes."

"Mary must be changed."

I did not answer; I wanted her to see for herself the extent of that
change. But when, in a few minutes later, the carriage stopped and I
hurried with her into the house which had been the scene of so much
misery, I was hardly prepared for the difference in her own countenance
which the hall light revealed. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks were
brilliant, her brow lifted and free from shadow; so quickly does the ice
of despair melt in the sunshine of hope.

Thomas, who had opened the door, was sombrely glad to see his mistress
again. "Miss Leavenworth is in the drawing-room," said he.

I nodded, then seeing that Eleanore could scarcely move for agitation,
asked her whether she would go in at once, or wait till she was more
composed.

"I will go in at once; I cannot wait." And slipping from my grasp, she
crossed the hall and laid her hand upon the drawing-room curtain, when
it was suddenly lifted from within and Mary stepped out.

"Mary!"

"Eleanore!"

The ring of those voices told everything. I did not need to glance their
way to know that Eleanore had fallen at her cousin's feet, and that
her cousin had affrightedly lifted her. I did not need to hear: "My sin
against you is too great; you cannot forgive me!" followed by the low:
"My shame is great enough to lead me to forgive anything!" to know that
the lifelong shadow between these two had dissolved like a cloud, and
that, for the future, bright days of mutual confidence and sympathy were
in store.

Yet when, a half-hour or so later, I heard the door of the reception
room, into which I had retired, softly open, and looking up, saw Mary
standing on the threshold, with the light of true humility on her face,
I own that I was surprised at the softening which had taken place in
her haughty beauty. "Blessed is the shame that purifies," I inwardly
murmured, and advancing, held out my hand with a respect and sympathy I
never thought to feel for her again.

The action seemed to touch