in any way."

Stephen Potter went into the parlor where his wife sat, reading a novel.
She was a very silly, frivolous woman, and she cared nothing for her
husband, but when she saw his face she exclaimed, in terror, "What was it,
Stephen?"

"Only Reuben Miller's daughter, come two days' journey after some money I
owe her father and cannot pay," said Stephen, bitterly.

"Miller? Miller?" said Mrs. Potter, "one of those old canal debts?"

"Yes," said Stephen.

"Well, of course all those are outlawed long ago," said she. "I don't see
why you need worry about that; she can't touch you."

Stephen looked scornfully at her. She had a worse heart than he. At that
moment Draxy's face and voice, "I am very sorry for you, Mr. Potter,"
stood out in the very air before him.

"I suppose not," said he, moodily; "I wish she could! But I shall give her
a deed of a piece of New Hampshire land which they may get some good of.
God knows I hope she may," and he left the room, turning back, however, to
add, "She is to sleep here to-night. I could not have her go to the hotel.
But you need take no trouble about her."

"I should think not, Stephen Potter," exclaimed Mrs. Potter, sitting bolt
upright in her angry astonishment; "I never heard of such impudence as her
expecting"--

"She expected nothing. I obliged her to stay," interrupted Stephen, and
was gone.

Mrs. Potter's first impulse was to go and order the girl out of her house.
But she thought better of it. She was often afraid of her husband at this
time; she dimly suspected that he was on the verge of ruin. So she sank
back into her chair, buried herself in her novel, and soon forgot the
interruption.

Draxy's breakfast and dinner were carried to her room, and every
provision made for her comfort. Stephen Potter's servants obeyed him
always. No friend of the family could have been more scrupulously served
than was Draxy Miller. The man-servant carried her bag to the station,
touched his hat to her as she stepped on board the train, and returned to
the house to say in the kitchen: "Well, I don't care what she come for;
she was a real lady, fust to last, an' that's more than Mr. Potter's got
for a wife, I tell you."

When Stephen Potter went into his library after bidding Draxy good-by, he
found on the table a small envelope addressed to him. It held this note:--

"MR. POTTER:--I would not take the paper [the word 'money' had been
scratched out and the word 'paper' subst