she was downcast. But shame kept her from confiding the truth, and hence both maid and mistress avoided touching upon the unpleasantness of the previous evening, or mentioning the name of Earnest Stocklaid.

With Ruth's keen perception, however, she did not need to be told the cause of the young lady's mood, for the very nature of her social existence for the past three years could but reveal her attachment to the young man, and guilty or not of his downfall, she must certainly feel a sense of humiliation for his weakness. At last the day came to a close and the family retired, but Marie tossed upon her bed and sleep could not be coaxed to enfold her 'neath its wings of forgetfulness. Whatever of remorse or of self-accusation she felt, it was between herself and God, whom she did not know nor care to serve.

At last the morning broke and daylight came creeping in. Marie arose and seated herself at her desk to write. Ruth was conscious of her doings, but chose rather to be ignorant for conscience's sake and let her work out her own destiny as the All Wise intends we shall.

Once, twice she dipped her pen, putting her thoughts upon the paper, and then not satisfied with the result she wrote again. At last she had fashioned something to suit her, and, closing the envelope, she addressed it to Earnest Stocklaid.

Answering the early postman's ring, she put the letter, with a piece of money, into his hand and bade him deliver the message at once. "Take care," she said, "it must be delivered within the hour or it will be of no avail."

Ruth longed to know the contents of that note, but could not yet for many months. If she could have seen the poor bowed head and touched with sympathy the ing heart of Earnest Stocklaid when he read that m "We shall go to-morrow, but do not try to see

say good-bye for I feel that you have forfeited my love, inasmuch as you have debased your manhood and lost your own self-respect," she would have been glad she was spared the regret of such an hour.

The morning had dawned dark and lowery and the rain came down in a slow drizzle, making drowsy nature look drowsier still, and the day seemed duller to the young women than the day before. At last the hour had arrived when Judge Earnestine should arrive. Marie began to awaken and a sense of her responsibility dawned upon her. She arose and began to make preparations for his reception. She flew to the dressing case and took one peep into the mirror. Her face looked more womanly now than when her father had said good-bye three years before. She stroked her waves of auburn hair that lay regularly upon her brow, straightened the knot at her throat, drew the window shades to throw the most cheerful glow of light upon the room, and then sat down to await the arrival of the carriage. A long time it seemed to her, but at last it drove in sight and directly paused before the gate. The door was opened and a tall, thin man stepped out. Marie started back; could that be her father? Yes, sure enough, it was Judge Earnestine; but how changed he was! What could be the matter with him? Flying to the door, she wound her arms about him and wept for joy, saying: “Oh, papa! how glad I am to see you again! But do tell me, beloved, what is the matter with you—you are so very thin and pale? Have those Turks been starving you in prison, or has the Russian bear set his paw down upon you?"

The father laughed at the witticism and made a grimace at the troubled look upon the face of his child, but to allay her fears, he replied: "Neither one, my daughter, your