as the grave with me: but if you do care for him,
you must think one thing or the other.'

'I suppose not, then--no,' said Juliana.

Repeating the languid words bitterly, Rose continued:

'What is it to love without having faith in him you love? You make my
mind easier.'

Juliana caught the implied taunt, and said, fretfully:

'I'm ill. You're so passionate. You don't tell me what it is. How can I
answer you?'

'Never mind,' said Rose, moving to the door, wondering why she had
spoken at all: but when Juliana sprang forward, and caught her by the
dress to stop her, and with a most unwonted outburst of affection,
begged of her to tell her all, the wound in Rose's breast began to
bleed, and she was glad to speak.

'Juley, do you-can you believe that he wrote that letter which poor
Ferdinand was--accused of writing?'

Juliana appeared to muse, and then responded: 'Why should he do such a
thing?'

'O my goodness, what a girl!' Rose interjected.

'Well, then, to please you, Rose, of course I think he is too
honourable.'

'You do think so, Juley? But if he himself confessed it--what then? You
would not believe him, would you?'

'Oh, then I can't say. Why should he condemn himself?'

'But you would know--you would know that he was a man to suffer death
rather than be guilty of the smallest baseness. His birth--what is
that!' Rose filliped her fingers: 'But his acts--what he is himself
you would be sure of, would you not? Dear Juley! Oh, for heaven's sake,
speak out plainly to me.'

A wily look had crept over Juliana's features.

'Certainly,' she said, in a tone that belied it, and drawing Rose to her
bosom, the groan she heard there was passing sweet to her.

'He has confessed it to Mama,' sobbed Rose. 'Why did he not come to me
first? He has confessed it--the abominable thing has come out of his own
mouth. He went to her last night...'

Juliana patted her shoulders regularly as they heaved. When words were
intelligible between them, Juliana said:

'At least, dear, you must admit that he has redeemed it.'

'Redeemed it? Could he do less?' Rose dried her eyes vehemently, as if
the tears shamed her. 'A man who could have let another suffer for his
crime--I could never have lifted my head again. I think I would have cut
off this hand that plighted itself to him! As it is, I hardly dare look
at myself. But you don't think it, dear? You know it to be false! false!
false!'

'Why should Mr. Harrington confes