myself. Somehow I feel as if I had caught your spirit of reform and should begin to talk for the labor reform. myself."

Ruth laughed joyously and replied: "Well, dear, I trust that the blessed Lord who has so molded my spirit as to make me desire to be a revolutionist, will not only make your tongue to talk but will make you a reformer of public morals as well, and your heart to love, as mine does, for humanity's sake."

Tears glistened in Marie's eyes and her lips trembled with emotion, as she came close to Ruth's side and laid her head upon her shoulder, saying: "Here I am, dear; teach me how to love the people as you love them and half my fortune shall be yours. Noble girl that you are! In all the years that I have known you I have yet to detect one single selfish act. The world is your country and the poor and friendless are the first for whom you think. I would that God had created me with a soul like yours!"

Ruth bowed her head and imprinted a kiss upon Marie's brow. Maid and mistress from that moment stood upon the same social plane together. Love, that had often fallen bleeding at her feet, had at last found the key to Marie Earnestine's proud heart and her face was turned toward humanity and God.

CHAPTER XI.

MARIE'S CONFESSION.

A few days after the conversation recorded in the preceding chapter, Ruth was not a little surprised to have Marie, so changed and beautiful, come into her room and in a spirit of gentleness born of love, lean her head upon her bosom. Gently loving arms were twined about her and Ruth whispered: "What is it, Marie, dear? Can I do anything for you?"

For a moment the mistress of Palace Earnestine stood there with her face buried in the bosom of her maid and then she whispered: "Dear Ruth, I have a secret that I can not tell to any one but you." The gentle pressure of loving arms gave her assurance, and bringing an ottoman, she seated herself at Ruth's knee and for the first time in her life looked up into her face with that confiding trust that a little child will place in a mother, and began: "Ruth, help me. How can I begin to tell you what is upon my heart? Can I trust you?"

Tenderly Ruth took her face between her hands and gently drew her to her bosom. With all Marie's faults, Ruth really had for the girl a most tender affection. Now at this moment, when she had come so humbly suing for sympathy, she felt an overwhelming love stealing into her heart which was almost unexplainable. Winding her arms more tenderly about her, she replied: Marie? Of course you can trust me. and at all times been your friend?"

"Trust me, Have I not ever

"Yes, you have been my friend; but it would be easier for me now if you had not, for then I could feel that I

was your equal. Now I know that when you hear my tale that you will in your heart despise one so weak and full of error. I have ever known that you were my superior, both in intellect and in pureness of heart. In my ignorance I thought to humble and keep you down by making you continually to feel the difference in our stations in life. But you know, dear Ruth, that I have loved you, else long ago I would have sent you away from me. You have been so kind not to leave nor forsake me when you could have done so much better in life than to remain here, I now acknowledge all my faults and tell you that I am heartily sorry for them."

The tears were rolling down Ruth's cheeks as she said: "Dear Marie, be assured that you are forgiven for every mistake of your life. It has been my love for you and my tender thought for your welfare that has kept me by your side."

Here Ruth imprinted a kiss upon her cheek, whose blush told of shame and sorrow for past naughtiness. "Tell me, Marie, what is the burden that is weighing upon your mind and what I can do to help you."

For a moment her head was bowed low and then with a trustful look into Ruth's dark eyes she began: "You remember, dear, that when we were abroad I met Earnest Stocklaid. You know him to be an educated and polished gentleman. For him I formed a strong and lasting attachment. He was noble and good. After walking and driving with him I grew to feel that life would be sweeter because of his existence. Our friendship, of course, merited the highest approval of Aunt Langsford, who is anxious that I should be united in marriage to some good man while she was yet alive and with me. It is sufficient for me to say that Earnest sought my hand and was formally accepted. The wedding was to have taken place

shortly after our arrival home in America. But, as you know, papa's sickness hastened our return. This and the disgraceful conduct of Earnest at the farewell banquet in Germany (here Marie's cheeks crimsoned of the remembrance of the occasion of that disgrace) has caused me to put off the time from year to year with the hope that I might yet persuade him to consent to the breaking of our engagement. He is unwilling to give me up, but I have entreated him to stay abroad and not return until I was ready to give myself in wedlock. I set the time for our wedding day and wrote to my betrothed to return to America and that we would be united at once in marriage. Upon his arrival home I have found, to my deep regret, that he is still addicted to the use of ardent spirits and is, in fact, a periodical drunkard.

"When I discovered this I was brave enough to break our engagement and forbade him to come near me again, but, Ruth, he comes here still and will not stay away. I have repeatedly refused to see him, but still he comes and pleads for my hand. He says: 'Just try me, Miss Earnestine, and when we are once married I shall love you so well that I shall never want to taste intoxicants again.' Oh, Ruth, I love him so! What can I do?" Burying her head in Ruth's lap, she murmured, "Ora pro nobis," and sobbed most bitterly.

For some moments Ruth did not speak, but tenderly stroked the silken tresses of the weeping girl. At length she said: "Marie, your words are puzzling. What do you wish me to say to you? Surely you do not want me to encourage you to yield to the inclination of your heart and become a drunkard's wife."

"But," sobbed Marie, "you know, dear Ruth, it was my own hand that gave him his first glass! And he says that since he fell by my solicitation, I must have pity upon him