h remorse, and that awful sense that had grown up with her anxiety
that, for whatever might befall Margaret that night, she alone was
directly responsible.

Eleanor was seeing things very clearly that night, and quite
dispassionately she told herself that she hated her own character. It was
selfish through and through. The specious plea with which she had salved
her conscience heretofore, that Margaret had been far the more eager of
the two for the mutual exchange of their names, she brushed aside as
worthless. Though there was little difference in their ages, Margaret
was, as regarded experience of the world, a mere child compared to her,
and she felt that in acceding to the deception she had been like a
grown-up person cheating a child. Of course, Margaret had been old enough
to know the difference between right and wrong, but that was no excuse
for her; she ought not to have taken advantage of her.

The sting of shame she had felt before. Mrs. Murray's unvarying kindness
and the gratitude she showed for any little mark of attention or service
rendered to her while she had been ill, had made Eleanor both remorseful
and ashamed, but her repentance then had not led to amendment. Even while
she had been deeply ashamed of herself, she had known that, for the sake
of her voice, she would have done it all over again, deceived Mrs.
Murray, taken advantage of Margaret, held her, in spite of her tears, to
her word, sacrificed her own truth and honesty to her ambition.

And this was the pass to which her ambition had brought her. Even though
Margaret's death was not mercifully to be laid at her door, as for two
long, never-to-be-forgotten hours that night she had feared, who could
tell what the effects of a night of exposure and fright on the downs
might not have upon her constitution?

No wonder, then, that with those miserable thoughts for company, Eleanor
could not rest. But her repentance if tardy was at least sincere. Could
the clock of time have been put back seven weeks, and were she and
Margaret to be meeting now for the first time in the dingy little
waiting-room at Carden Station, ah, how differently would she act! Not
for the sake of being the greatest singer in the whole round world would
she have consented to the deception. Rather would she have drudged as a
poorly paid teacher in second-rate schools all the days of her life.

"Oh--if I could only have the time over again!" groaned Eleanor. It
seemed such a sma