ford; but whether she uttered the word in
recognition or in depreciation, the other had no means of guessing.

"I said that I was going to ask a great favor of you," said the city
girl, going on. "It is that you will remain in this room while I say
some very strange things to you, and that you will try not to be hurt or
angry with me until I have done."

"This _is_ certainly very strange," said Mary Crawford. "What can I
think?"

"Think that you are in the house of true friends, who would neither see
you harmed nor insulted," said Josephine.

"Oh, I am sure of _that_," answered her companion.

"Then listen to me," said Josephine, "and whatever surprise you may
feel, pray do not _say_ it until you have heard all. Mrs. Halstead is
not sick, and the note sent to you was written at my request, as the
only means within my knowledge of inducing you to visit this house
_immediately_."

"Mrs. Halstead not sick? a falsehood--a cruel falsehood!" said the young
girl, with some indignation, and rising from her chair as if to leave
the room.

"Miss Mary Crawford, I implore you to resume your seat," said Josephine,
her voice now broken and husky with her great agitation. "For the sake
of your own happiness and the happiness of those dearer to you than your
own life, I implore you to hear me out."

"This is all so strange I--what _can_ you mean?" she uttered, but she
sunk back, nevertheless, into the chair again.

"It _is_ strange--it is all strange--it is of crime and suffering that I
am about to tell you," answered Josephine. "To tell you for your own
sake and no interest of my own."

"For _my_ sake?" asked Mary Crawford, now visibly trembling, and with a
look of startled wonder upon her face that was really pitiable to
behold. "What can you know of _me_, and what interest can you take in
me?"

"I know nearly everything of you, and I take the same interest in you
that I would do in a dear sister," replied the city girl, striving to
use the words that would most reassure and invite confidence. "Will you
understand me when I say that two of the dearest friends I have in the
world are your cousins Isabel and _Richard Crawford_?"

She purposely laid a peculiar stress on the latter name, and fixed her
eyes keenly on the other as she did so. She saw the young girl flush to
the very temples, then pale as suddenly, make another movement to rise
from her chair, then sink back again as if from sheer exhaustion. Oh, it
was not