ETTICE arrived at the farmhouse full of

good resolutions. Her fresh, pretty

young face delighted her mother-in-law, and her manner was both subdued and caressing. She listened attentively to the evening reading, and willingly joined her clear, bright voice in the hymn. Calm, sweet summer reigned over the country, pure and delicate as only summer and the country can be. Lettice looked about her with pleasure, considered the farmhouse not at all a bad sort of old place, smelled the honeysuckles with delight, longed for Frank, and thought his mother a little like him.

His father was better, but she did not see him that night, as he was asleep before she arrived. The next day it was promised her that she should be taken into his room and pay him a visit.

The likes of you will do him good,' the old lady said kindly, and Lettice blushed, not ill pleased by the compliment she saw in her eyes, though she was too discreet to utter it; for Mrs. Tippington was one of the old-fashioned school, who think it indiscreet to let girls know that they are pretty.

Lettice went to sleep that night thinking of Frank. 'He is forgiving me now,' she reflected; 'he has forgiven me. He won't care about that stupid bank note. He will come to me to-morrow, and we shall love each other more, and be happier than ever. And I like his mother, and that little dappled cow was delightful. I will milk her, and I will learn to make butter, and perhaps it might not be a bad plan to sell the shop and get a farm instead. Diana Hope, I'm sure, will send me back the money, and we shall never '- Here Lettice's reveries ended, and her dreams began, for she fell asleep.

Little indeed did she guess of all that her husband was going through during these tranquil hours she spent so happily at the farmhouse. Little did she guess of his misery, his shame, and his despair, or that he was now a self-convicted criminal, waiting his trial for theft.

The next morning she rose early and ran out of doors before breakfast. She visited the farm-yard, and kissed the little dappled cow with empressement. She ran about among the cocks and hens, and tried

to catch the lambs; but she positively refused to look at the pigs: she hated pigs, they were so ungenteel. But for the pigs, Lettice would have forgotten her gentility.

She brought proudly in some eggs to boil for breakfast, and helped to toast the bread and lay the table.

'I find that I am growing quite good,' she said to herself, 'good and useful. I don't suppose I shall ever be foolish, or giddy, or worry Frank any more. It is quite easy, I find, and quite nice, and as happy as possible. How glad I am!'

After breakfast she paid the old man, Frank's father, a visit. She was a little afraid of him as he lay there on his bed, his face pale and cadaverouslooking, his features large, and his grey hair and beard lying thick about him.

'I think,' she said to herself, 'I won't have much to do with sick old men, however good I am. I don't like them, and they frighten me.'

'Bless your pretty face, it does me good to look at it,' said her husband's father, and as he said it she saw a something in his eyes that reminded her of her husband. She shut her own in a sort of terror. Would Frank ever come to look like, to be like that? Oh, how dreadful to be old! to have been young, and so know what it is, and then to be old!

She shivered a little at the idea.

'Old people ought all to herd together,' she thought. They like each other, no doubt, and they should be shut up in a pen, and made as comfortable as possible; but we should know nothing about them -that would be the fair plan.'

'What are you thinking of, my jewel?' asked the old man at that moment.

She laughed.

'Nothing worth talking about,' she said.

Then the mother-in-law asked her to fetch the big Bible and read them a Psalm, which she obediently did, feeling a little afraid as she did so, and listening to her own voice, while it repeated the beautiful words, as if she had never heard it before. It sounded to her like a strange new voice that could not be her own.

'Have they lived this way all their lives?' she thought. 'Have they been always good and pious, and dwelt among sweet things and fair sights? How fond they seem of each other, though they are so old! Did they always agree? Did they never quarrel and bicker, as Frank and I do? And was she always as good as he? or did she grow good from being with him? Well, I am sure I feel as good as possible now, and Frank and I

will be as happy as possible.

How soon can he

come? When will he be here? Sure he must

T

have found out by this time that he can't live without me?'

The first half, or perhaps three parts of the day, during which Frank did not arrive, Lettice was sweet, gay, and caressing. After that she began to weary for her husband, counting the hours and the minutes, and expecting that each one as it passed would bring him to her side.

But the day went by, and he did not come; the evening went by, and the night fell, and no Frank made his appearance. It was with the utmost difficulty that Lettice prevented her tears from falling, and did not let the old couple perceive her dejection and disappointment; and when at last, prayers said, the chapter read, and the hymn sung, she went to her own room, the first thing she did was to throw herself on the bed, and cry the bitter, refreshing, delightful tears of youth.

The next morning she felt as if she must break her promise, and bring happiness back to her home by so breaking it. At breakfast she led the conversation to promises, and asked Mrs. Tippington her opinion about them. In Mrs. Tippington's eyes there was only one opinion that could be heldpromises were sacred. They were not like pie-crust, made to be broken.

'But if you make a promise without knowing