very dishonourable thing.

A bowery lane ran at the bottom of the gardens attached to a row of
scattered villas, picturesque residences inhabited by well-to-do people;
and along the bank were placed benches here and there, inviting the
passer-by to rest.

From one of the gardens came the sound of quiet voices, one of which he
knew, though it had been unheard for years. He sat himself deliberately
down upon the bench conveniently near the spot, and hearkened to what
that voice had to say.

"Sing to me, Margaret, dear," pleaded the other speaker. "I am selfish
to be always wanting it, I know, but it will not be for long now, and if
you do not sing me 'Will he Come?' I shall keep on hearing it till I
have to try to sing it myself, and that hurts."

"Hush, Ailie. You know I will sing," and Mark Ratcliff held his breath
in surprise as the notes of the song rose upward.

Margaret used to sing, but not like this. Every note was like a winged
soul rising out of prison. He had never heard such a voice before. No
wonder that Mrs. Hart had said that she could sing, and no wonder that
this sick girl wanted to hear it. By the way, this was one of the good
works, of course!

"Rest to the weary spirit,
Peace to the quiet dead,"

repeated Ailie as the song died away. "He never came, Margaret, and he
never will come to me. It may be wicked, but I could die gladly if I
could see him first and know that he had not betrayed me. It is terrible
to lie drifting out into the dark without a word from him!"

"Dear Ailie, why do you make me sing this wretched song? Why do you try
to dwell on the thought of faithless loves? Have patience a little; your
letters may yet find him."

"Too late. In time for him to drop a tear over my grave and tell you
that he never meant to hurt me," cried the girl hysterically. "Oh,
Margaret! Why do I tell you all the anguish that eats upon my heart? If
you could only know the comfort you are to me! the blessed relief of
lying in your arms and telling you what nobody else could forgive or
understand! You are the best person I know, and yet you never make me
feel myself lost beyond redemption."

"You are talking nonsense, darling," said the voice of the very dull
person.

"Am I, you pearl of womanhood? What would you say if I told you all the
fancies I have about you? Ah, Margaret, I do not want to know that you
have had your heart broken by a false lover!"

"My dear, I was always a plain and u