ate emphasis, "that the orphan girl of whom Mr. Chester Danforth took charge at La Pizzo, in the year 18—, lived, and is still alive?"

"Exactly," replied she, nodding her head. "She is called Pearl Danforth, and I have the inappreciable honor to be her aunt by adoption. Chester failed in every attempt to find out her relatives; and was glad to fail, I suppose, for he and his wife had become so attached to her in the year and a half that they had her with them in Europe, that it would have been like losing a second child to have given her up. So, finally, they adopted her formally-a hazardous proceeding, I think, with a strange child, for you cannot tell what sort of blood it may have in its veins, nor in what unpleasant shape it may manifest itself. Pearl, certainly, has some very queer drops in hers. She grew up a strange, self-willed, erratic creature, as innocent to outward appearance as a child, but in reality as cool and subtle and slippery as quicksilver. Chester had hard work to keep her in order, at the last; and after he died, her mother—that is to say, Chester's wife—could not control her at all; since then she has taken her own course pretty much. She consorts chiefly with spirit-rappers, clairvoyants, short-skirted Bloomerites, long-haired philanthropists, and the like; she even professes to be a remarkably good medium (of the Old Nick, I grant!) herself, and can tip tables and spell out unmeaning sentences by the slow halfyard with the best of them, when she likes; in short, she is up to all manner of mischief, and keeps her poor mother in constant dread of what she may do next."

"Can you tell where she may be found?"

"Well, no, not precisely; nobody ever does know just where Pearl is to be found-the most unlikely spot you can think of is apt to be the one. Nevertheless, there is no difficulty in finding her when you want her; she is the sort of person easy to be traced. She always leaves a dozen or two of dazed individuals along her track, staring after her,

open-mouthed and bewildered, and only too glad to get a listener to all the strange things they have to tell of her. But what, may I ask, do you know of her, or of Chester?"

I hastily turned the matter over in my mind, and decided that it was necessary to acquaint Mrs. Danforth with the finding and the contents of Captain Hart's letter, which I did as briefly as possible. She threw up her hands, when I had done, with an odd, deprecatory gesture.

"So the little witch is to be an heiress, and more independent than ever!" exclaimed she. "Between you and me, a fortune could scarcely have tumbled into a more preposterous spot. Don't you think we should be justified in suppressing the fact of Pearl's identity with Cyrus Thorne's supposed-to-be-dead child, and leaving Rick and Carrie in the enjoyment of the property? I really believe they have the best right to it."

I scarcely heard her. I was picturing Mrs. Thorne's disappointment, and striving to look a little way into the dusk of her children's future.

"I see we are to do right, though the heavens fall," laughed Mrs. Danforth, construing my silence into disapproval of her mock-earnest proposition. "Well, then, it becomes my duty to inform Pearl of this odd turn in her affairs; and you, I suppose, will do as much for Mrs. Thorne."

The suggestion was like the firm grasp of a policeman upon an escaped convict's shoulder. It was a positive despair to be thus forced back into a distasteful atmosphere, just as I was congratulating myself upon breathing it no more; and into a new and inauspicious connection with an affair that I had believed to be, so far as I was concerned, happily concluded. And Mala did not scruple to question the wisdom of the providence by which I was alternately made to appear as the good and the evil genius of a person with whom I should be best pleased to have nothing to do.

"Let the matter alone," was her final advice, "and leave Mrs. Thorne to be notified of Pearl's claim, in due time, by Pearl's lawyer."

But Bona would not permit me to act upon it. She averred that the blow would fall somewhat less crushingly upon Mrs. Thorne, if dealt before she had time to settle herself firmly into the belief that Rick's claim was beyond all question. She reminded me that my antipathy to her, and my tendency toward uncharitable judgment, in her regard, should make me only the more solicitous to fail her in no ordinary kindness;-in short, she made her quiet voice so persistently heard through Mala's murmurs and sarcasms, that I was forced to sit down to Mrs. Danforth's desk, and scribble a hurried note to Mrs. Thorne, through the house of "Venner & Co.,"-for I knew no other way of reaching her. And I left it at the post-office on my way to the station.

I arrived at the latter spot just as the up-train was leaving. The little bustle occasioned by its departure was all over when I came out of the express office, and most of the arrivals had been borne off by the various vehicles in waiting. A single figure was pacing impatiently up and down the platform. As it turned round, I found myself face to face with Rick Thorne.

Our greeting was cordial and unembarrassed. In that first moment, I think neither of us remembered precisely how we had parted.

"I thought it most likely that you had gone to New Orleans with your mother," said I,

"To New Orleans!" he repeated in surprise. "Is mother gone to New Orleans? What on earth has taken her there?"

"Then you did not see her before she went!" I exclaimed, amazed that Mrs. Thorne should have taken the matter so completely into her own hands, as she appeared to have done.

"No. She came to Haventon, it is true, a day or two ago; and I understand she made a regular fuss because I was not there, and they couldn't tell her where I had gone. I-I—"

Here his self-possession quite forsook him, and a flush rose to his brow. It was only for a moment.

"What is the use of mincing matters?" he went on, with a quick return of his old, easy, engaging frankness; "I am married, Miss Frost."

No doubt I opened wide eyes of wonder at him. The scene in "The Bower came back upon me, now, vividly. I was provoked at myself that it caused a momentary pang. I had no mind to furnish a confirmation, in my own person, of the sneering assertion that no woman likes to see a man's affections transferred from herself to another, even though they may have given her pain rather than pleasure; -yet from whence came that swift throe, if not from wounded vanity? Or, was its deeper root in the sudden, flitting vision of my own lonely future which rose before me, as he spoke? Yet what right have I to assume that it will be lonely? God's spirit, working in and through my prayerful efforts, is able to crowd it with peace, joy, use fulness, blessedness.

"Allow me to be the first of your Shiloh friends to congratulate you," said I to Rick, quickly recovering myself. "Is your aunt expecting you?"

"No, I believe not. The truth is, my wedding was a very sudden affair; the fruit of a hasty impulse, but a good one, I hope. I met her-that is to say, my wifeonly a month ago, when I was in a wretched, despondent, gloomy state (I need not tell you the reason why), and she contrived to diffuse some sunshine through it, in such a miraculous way, that I was grateful, of course; and grati tude turns easily to love, you know. Then she was in uncomfortable leading-strings, subject to the control of certain people who were not at all in sympathy with her, and

who were continually checking her bright, beautiful impulses, and clipping the wings of her fancy; and I saw her so unhappy under it all, that I could not help marrying her, just to set her free. I supposed mother would be rather angry at first, but I knew I could coax her out of it. And there was not time to write and consult her about it."

The frank, easy, kind-hearted, inconsiderate, infatuated fellow! I hoped his wife had brought somewhat more of that uncommon commodity known as common sense into the sudden partnership than he had done.

"And now," he concluded, "let me take you in and introduce you to her."

I ceased to marvel at Rick's infatuation when a dainty little creature, half-asleep in the dingy waiting-room, lifted her picture-like head, with its great mass of golden curls and its innocent, wondering blue eyes, and smiled up into his face. But what a child! What a pair of children! What would become of them! Had Providence graciously gifted them with some sparrow-like instinct, by the help of which to seek their food and build their nest, as an offset to their scanty stock of human reason! And what sort of mercy might this soft dove expect at the angry talons of Mrs. Thorne! Poor, bitter, disappointed, Mrs. Thorne!

Mrs. Rick received me with the air of a childish princess, quiet, grave, slightly tinged with shyness, yet without awkwardness or confusion. She replied to my congratulatory remarks appropriately enough, answered the ques tions I addressed to her, and left the rest of the conversation to Rick and myself.

A small boy, a rickety wagon, and a horse capable of serving every purpose of a skeleton without taking the trouble of dying, shortly appeared at the door, and termi nated the interview. With a laugh at the style of his equipage,—the only one he had been able to procure,—and a seriously expressed fear that the horse would be "off his