g a good deed.
Upon the whole, she thought that if Mr. Glascock should give her
another chance she would accept him. And he had distinctly promised
that he would give her another chance. It might be that this
unfortunate quarrel in the Trevelyan family would deter him. People
do not wish to ally themselves with family quarrels. But if the
chance came in her way she would accept it. She had made up her mind
to that, when she turned round from off the last knoll on which she
had stood, to return to her sister and Priscilla Stanbury.

[Illustration: Nora tries to make herself believe.]

They two had sat still under the shade of a thorn bush, looking at
Nora as she was wandering about, and talking together more freely
than they had ever done before on the circumstances that had brought
them together. "How pretty she looks," Priscilla had said, as Nora
was standing with her figure clearly marked by the light.

"Yes; she is very pretty, and has been much admired. This terrible
affair of mine is a cruel blow to her."

"You mean that it is bad for her to come and live here--without
society."

"Not exactly that,--though of course it would be better for her to go
out. And I don't know how a girl is ever to get settled in the world
unless she goes out. But it is always an injury to be connected in
any way with a woman who is separated from her husband. It must be
bad for you."

"It won't hurt me," said Priscilla. "Nothing of that kind can hurt
me."

"I mean that people say such ill-natured things."

"I stand alone, and can take care of myself," said Priscilla. "I defy
the evil tongues of all the world to hurt me. My personal cares are
limited to an old gown and bread and cheese. I like a pair of gloves
to go to church with, but that is only the remnant of a prejudice.
The world has so very little to give me, that I am pretty nearly sure
that it will take nothing away."

"And you are contented?"

"Well, no; I can't say that I am contented. I hardly think that
anybody ought to be contented. Should my mother die and Dorothy
remain with my aunt, or get married, I should be utterly alone in the
world. Providence, or whatever you call it, has made me a lady after
a fashion, so that I can't live with the ploughmen's wives, and at
the same time has so used me in other respects, that I can't live
with anybody else."

"Why should not you get married, as well as Dorothy?"

"Who would have me? And if I had a husband I