difficult to see how nearly that word touched with agony the
very fountains of her life! She seemed trying to speak, but the words,
if any were intended, died upon her lips, and her helpless agitation was
really fearful to witness. Josephine Harris retained sufficient coolness
to mark every indication, and though her young heart bled for the misery
before her, after a moment's silence she repeated the names:

"Did you hear me, Miss Mary? I said that two of my dearest friends were
Isabel and Richard Crawford."

This time the young girl did manage to stagger to her feet, by a mighty
effort, her face white and her expression piteous. Her voice had broken
almost to hoarse sobs, as she said, leaning one hand on the arm of the
chair:

"I do not know why you have sent for me, or why you should torture me so
cruelly! If you know anything of me and of the man you have named, you
know that every word you speak is an unkindness, and that he is the last
man in the world whose name should sound in my ears!"

"He is the _first_ man in the world whose name should pass your lips,
with a prayer for forgiveness of your own cruelty joined with it!" said
his advocate, all her ardent spirit now thrown into her words.

"_My_ cruelty? _His_ forgiveness?" echoed Mary Crawford, as if really
stunned.

"I said those words," repeated Josephine. "One of the best and noblest
men that God ever made is lying on his sickbed, nearly dying. He loved
you--he loves you still. You pretended to love _him_; and now you have
allowed the words of falsehood to estrange your heart, if you _have_
one! It is to save you from doing what you will repent to your dying
day, that I have meddled in your affairs and placed myself in this false
position."

"The words of falsehood?" again echoed the young girl. If she had heard
the other words of the sentence, these were the ones which seemed to
have fixed themselves most deeply on her attention. She had not again
resumed her place in the chair, but stood with her hand on its arm, in
the same attitude of trouble and indecision.

"Falsehood--the worst and blackest!" said Josephine Harris. "Come here a
moment, will you?" She took the hand of the young girl in hers, and led
her close to the window, where the warm light of the summer day
streamed in more brightly and countenances could be better discerned.
"Look in my face. What do you see there?--tell me frankly--truth or
deception?"

It is doubtful whether Mary Cra