ing hours; and, as she pictured such a termination
to their brief married life, a vague tenderness took the place of her
former apathy. The very weakness he had shown in concealing their
marriage made him more a reality to her by giving her an insight into his
nature--not an endearing trait, perhaps; yet sometimes the failing that
one tries to counteract in the very effort it arouses awakens an
interest.

Bluebell felt thankful that her hours at the cottage were numbered, for
lately she had begun to fancy people looked askance at her, and the
carpenter's wife had developed an inquisitiveness akin to impertinence.

Mrs. Leighton sent a very kind answer, assuring her of the recommendation
as she had received it from Mrs. Rolleston. It was addressed to "Miss
Leigh," and a crimson flush rose to her temples at the unpleasant smile
with which the postmistress handed it across the counter. Harry, when he
wrote, having posted it himself, ventured to address his letter to "Mrs.
Dutton"; the only other she had received was from her mother, directed,
as requested, to B. D. This letter had been rather distressing--filled
with vague fears, inspired, she was sure, by Miss Opie, and conjuring
her, with promises of inviolable secrecy, to reveal her name.

The lady whose advertisement she had answered, apparently attracted by
her musical professions, replied immediately, and, the reference to Mrs.
Leighton being satisfactory, she was shortly engaged at a fair salary.

Then Bluebell, writing the account to Canada, could not refrain from
slipping in a private scrap to her mother, on which, in the strictest
confidence, she acknowledged her wedded name. This circumstance, however,
she did not mention to Harry when he returned on two days' leave, knowing
he would be sceptical as to Mrs. Leigh's power of secrecy.

Of course he was relieved that she had an asylum provided, and equally,
of course, raged inwardly at his wife's having to support herself in her
maiden name. He was the more remorseful as Bluebell made no further
allusion to it, and seemed more occupied with making the most of his last
days.

But he only called himself a confounded rascal, and trusted things would
come right in the end.

Bluebell was to remain one more night at the cottage after her
husband left. Her wardrobe, though slender, was new, as it consisted
of what Harry had bought at Liverpool. None of it was marked, as she
remembered with satisfaction; so there wa