in the near neighbourhood of a place like Perford, where the poor can hope so little from the rich that the rich have good cause to fear the poor! And the splendour of the place! The rich carpet spread over the dainty tiles, the tall mirrors, the gorgeous exotics standing on marble tables, to say nothing of the great Russian leather screened chair, wherefrom a pair of legs gave notice of the presence of a dozing livery servant, all withheld Lydia's hand from touching the bell she saw in the door-post. Lydia stole down the steps again, and thought her footfall had never been so loud.

Be this mistress or maid, she must creep through the low back door which Lydia presently found in the ivy-covered side wall. That only admitted them to a little paved I court beside the house. There was another door in the wall of the building, and Lydia cautiously ascertained that it was also fastened. Here she must ring the bell, and when she heard responsive footsteps she could hurry away and watch in the carriage ring to make sure there was no mistake.

But the door flew open almost before the bell had sounded, and a woman, a smart servant with an untied bonnet perched on her head, came out with a rush and jostled against them.

"Lawk-a-mercy!" she cried, "it's well you're back within five minutes of your being missed, ma'am ! Such a turn as you've given us all! And, ugh! what a state you are in!" she added, seizing the reeling woman in a strong, rough grasp, and looking down at her muddy dress and rumpled shawl. "You'll find yourself in the lock-up one of these days, with your beastly habits and your mad goings-on; and what will the master do then, I wonder, Mrs. Pride?"

A piercing shriek rang through the housea shriek high, clear, and terrible. It rang within, without, through the spacious corridors, and among the shivering autumn trees. The hurrying servants paused in rooted horror, while Kate Pride, at that moment stepping from Miss Pendlebury's carriage, turned from the great flight of steps and flew to the side door-the terror always sleeping in her heart starting up within her, though she knew that was not her mother's voice.

There, on the damp ground, with her hands on the kitchen threshold and her white face half upturned, lay Lydia Calderwood.

"She brought home the mistress," whis

pered the housemaid to her young lady, "and it must have been too much for her, for she dropped down like a stone."

"Where is my mother?" gasped Kate, looking round; but the sight of a tall figure uncertainly retreating down the kitchen passage, in the guidance of an elderly maidservant, was all the answer Kate got or required just then. They were carrying Lydia in, and as the lamplight fell full on her face Miss Pride started eagerly forward.

"It is the young woman that works at Miss Pendlebury's," volunteered the page when they had placed her on the low kitchen settle.

Her face was scarcely whiter than Kate's own, and in its pitiful unconsciousness it was not half so wildly sad.

"Take her to my room," said Kate; "it might frighten her to see so many people when she recovers." And as she followed the group of bearers she hated herself for her words. They would have been natural and true under any other circumstances, but now the utter truth would have been, "Take her to my room, for I choose that nobody but myself shall hear what she may say when she recovers."

And when they were all dismissed but Kate's own maid, Parkes, and while Parkes herself was busy with aromatic vinegar and burnt feathers, Kate turned to her little secretaire and touched the spring of a secret place. A lid flew up, and from a little heap of letters and manuscripts Kate's trembling fingers selected one. It was only memoranda of expenses-a young man's careless memoranda-where every second item was called "sundries," but on its back was a sketch of a young girl with dark waving hair and passionate eyes. About the soft round throat closed the daintily-ruffled dress. This girl, mute on the sofa, was white and worn, with mendings in her coarse alpaca skirt and cheap thread gloves on her hands; but that girl and this girl were the same, and Kate Pride was sure of it now, though perhaps the resemblance would never have struck her had she met this girl anywhere else, or under any other circumstances.

"I think she's coming to, miss," said Parkes, and Kate shut the spring with a snap.

"Then leave her to me, Parkes," she said huskily. "You can wait within call in case you are wanted."

"She's all right now; you needn't be frightened, miss," said Parkes ; "look at the colour coming to her cheeks." Parkes was

Yes, yes-anything-only go," said Kate impatiently.

Half an hour later one of the Pride's footmen carried a note to Mrs. Moffat's to apprise her that her lodger was quite safe, but would not return home till morning.

walked into Perford with Lydia Calderwood, and parted from her only at Mrs. Moffat's threshold.

CHAPTER XIV.-TWO LOVE LETTERS.

ONLY two or three weeks later, there came this letter to Lois Enticknapp.

In the dim dawn Kate stole down-stairs to the greenhouse to gather a few flowers to greet her mother's waking-that terrible waking of remorse and shame, whose utter abandonment of self-blame and detestation had always saved Kate's love, albeit that love lay in her heart as unlike what it should have been as a jewel stained with blood, and wrenched from worthy setting, is unlike the diamond reflecting the sunshine and lending its light to the brow of loveliness.

She paused at the drawing-room window and drew aside the curtain. The mists of the night before were rolling away, and in the valley below she could see the tall chimneys of Perford. It was dawn there toodawn even in the worst room of those filthy slums which in some public meeting she had once heard her father characterize as "dens of iniquity" and "sinks of abomination;" and she thought to herself that the most squalid roof there could scarcely cover sadder skeletons than were crouching among the downy pillows of the two bedchambers she had left. Those might stalk abroad in loud street fights and coarse police-court revenge, while these might be but barely exposed by the half-credited gossip of dismissed servants; but Kate Pride's eyes were not of the short-sighted kind which see no farther than the surface of things, and she felt that a curse does indeed spread on all sides when the humanity that God has joined in one brotherhood is put asunder by gold and vanity.

The morning was still fresh, and the earliest of the factory people were only starting to their day's labour, when Kate Pride

palace, and that you can do, transforming this place into one, by the magic of sitting down on the red cushion of the wooden chair that stands empty opposite me! You shall choose your own china, my Lois, and we will go together to buy it, but meanwhile, there are more than a pair of everything even in my bachelor cupboard, so we need not be in a hurry. This house may be small for a bride, my Lois, but it is large and lonesome for a solitary lover.

"I am a German, Lois, and I want to be known as a betrothed man before I appear as a husband-and I want to be known as a betrothed man now-while it is your good pleasure, after your shy English fashion, that our betrothal shall not be made public till within a very few months of our marriage. Lois, let me have my own way, and I will let you have yours.

"Do not sorrow about parting from your mother. Will she not come here with us? Why should not Paul Stach carry on the business for her, and Else Beck take care of the house, that all may be ready for her return, so that she may threaten she will go away and leave us the moment she is not happy! Read her this, Lois, and I know she will say, 'Hans enters into my feelings, and what thou dost provide against, thou dost often prevent, thee knows.'

"And now for a little gossip; and I am so afraid lest any word of what I have to tell should hurt you, that I cannot bear to think there are hundreds of miles between us.

"I have met a young Englishman lately, named Pendlebury. He is among a party of English youths, one or two of whom are my pupils, and from their talk with one another I found he came from Culstead.

He learned that I had been in that part of England, and he answered me many questions about sundry places and people, and this made his conversation interesting to me. And now forgive me, Lois, for I know I did what I ought not. While you have sealed my lips as to our relationship one to the other, I should not have named you to a stranger. But I have not seen you for twelve months, Lois, and I had no reason then to think ill of the stranger, and I thought a good heart would show me a fresh reflection of you to cheer my hungry vision.

"Do you know a family named Enticknapp-a widow and daughter-living at Perford ?'

"Ah, a pretty girl,' he said, and my heart bounded-for one does not much heed tones in a foreign tongue-one's charity sets down aught unpleasant as due to some cause one does not understand. A pretty girl,' he repeated, and a knowing one, looks like a saint and manages to get thought such, but is dearest friend with a girl who also looks like a saint now, and is taking in a dear good soul of an aunt of mine, but whom I happen to know to be thoroughly bad. If she ever saw me, she would get a fright. I don't think she ever heard my name. I expect those crafty Quakers are backing her up in some conspiracy, because the family of the gentleman, whose 'wife' she was called when I first saw her, live in Culstead, and she must have come into the neighbourhood immediately after he broke off his connection with her.'

"Lois, I was stunned, because I did not know whether I ought to break the silence I had promised you, and how otherwise could I have right to check the man's malign recklessness? But I felt my promise to you was given, and must not be broken without your consent. And the poor youth will get that part of his punishment when our betrothal is announced. Yet it would be wrong to let him go on thus lightly lying away the reputation of any woman, and so, though I was not vain enough to suppose a word of mine would teach him, what none of God's words had taught him, yet still there must always be a beginning, and I made my little protest thus

"Herr Pendlebury, I do not like to hear a man speak ill of women, because a good man knows how hard the world is to women who are not good, and an evil man is apt to speak ill of good women because he interprets them by his own bad experience.'

"And I never spoke one more word to

him, not even a greeting the next time we met.

"Only two or three days after, as I was returning home late from the Public Library, I saw a crowd at the bottom of one of the streets. There were two or three policemen in the middle of it, and I went to inquire what the trouble was about. The hangerson told me a young Englishman was accused of theft.' Then, thinking of my pupils, I pushed into the heart of the throng. Two evil-looking men and a smart Frenchwoman had accused Gilbert Pendlebury of taking a diamond ring from their rooms at the Grand Hotel, where he also resided. He had not returned to his apartments afterwards and so was arrested in the street. Without saying a word to him, I followed to the police house; there I stated what I knew of him, that he was the son of a wealthy and respectable English merchant, and I also stated what was more to the point, that when I was travelling with Count Salzburg's son, I had seen his accusers at the gaming tables at Monaco, where they had been pointed out to me as adventurers of the very worst type. The consequence was that next day no accusers appeared, and Mr. Pendlebury was set at liberty. He was ready to overwhelm me with gratitude. Of course he had had little to fear from the mere charge from the first. I knew they only wanted to extort money,' he said; but they tried it at the wrong time, for I am short of cash, or I would have given anything to prevent the scandal I feared, and to keep my father from knowing I had been in such people's company.'

"If I ever see the Herr father I shall tell him,' I said gravely, therefore I would advise you to tell him yourself. It is not well to keep secrets whose opening would not be to one's credit. And perhaps you will explain to everybody what a mere chance made me your helper and adviser, for you know how hardly you yourself might judge of me as the presumed friend of a young man who keeps such bad company that he falls into the policeman's hands. Good morning, Herr Pendlebury,' I said, and he looked at me hard, and he went away. It is very painful to strike blows, Lois. They hurt the hands which must give them almost as much as the backs which must bear them.

"But now, Lois, you have a story to tell

with us over it. If the harvest is not yet ripe, Lois, say so, and I will ask no more. Keep your secrets while you feel you should keep them, and I shall but love you better for your silence. Our mutual love shall but further our wills, and give us more to God and to our fellow-creatures.

"Yes, Lois, come to be with me as soon as ever you can. I feel as if I was insulting you when I urge you not to wait till I can exchange this ingrain drugget for a Turkey carpet, and yonder willow pattern plate for a Dresden one. What have you and I to do with such things, Lois? We are both of the people, which means simply that those from whom we are proud to be descended found the best of life among bare boards and pewter platters. I shame you to name such things. You, in your grand simplicity, are doubtless unaware that there is a section of society where meat is more than life, and raiment more than the body! But even that section will not wonder at us, Lois, for they will say, 'After all, the Herr Professor is the son of a country innkeeper, and therefore this is natural in him.' And why should I resent this sort of approval, while I thank God that it is true?

"Give my love to your mother, my Lois, and my salutations to Paul and to Else, and to anybody else who kindly remembers me. And please to write to me at once, and tell me how soon I am to change my style of "Your devoted lover,

"HANS ENDBERG."

In less than two days afterwards this answer passed through the foreign branch of the Perford post-office.

"MY OWN DEAR HANS,-Your letter gave me only one pang, and that was to think that anybody can be so cruel and unreasonable as young Mr. Pendlebury. But then how dreadful it is to be so! And how terribly ashamed one must be when one finds one's self out at last! But then, truly, the worst is over, and poor Mr. Pendlebury will not need so much pity then as he does now.

"I have kept no secret, I think. Only I got to know Lydia Calderwood when she was very sad and very lonely. And I grew to love her. And because I loved her, I did not want to speak about her, even to you, till I could assuredly say of her, 'Tis is my friend.' For Lydia did not like me at once, as I liked her. She could not be quite sure whether she would really like me.

"We are friends now, we two girls. I

knew from the first whose wickedness had cursed her, but she did not know that she had come to live near his family, and I never told her. I did not feel sure what I should do, and I thought if she ought to know she would know in time.

"She knows now. One night, when she was taking a solitary walk, and was feeling vexed and angry because I had not accompanied her, and she made a wrong guess why I had not done so, she met his mother. O Hans! I don't like to write about these things, they are so terrible that it seems heartless to write about them coolly, and to hurry over their story, that we may commune about our own happy love. You must burn this letter directly you read it. And lest you should not like to burn all that has just come from me as I never can burn even your envelopes-I have written this on a sheet apart from our own affairs.

"Do you remember hearing the name of Pride when you were in Perford? The great house on Culstead Common belongs to the Prides, and we used to meet the son and daughter on horseback. Do you remember the son? That is he of whom young Mr. Pendlebury speaks.

"The Prides are very, very rich. But they come from poor people like ourselves, and the vast fortune is all of the senior Mr. Pride's making. And they have not been fortunate in any other way. The poor mother cannot keep from drinking, and is very miserable and often tries to kill herself. And that was how Lydia met her on the common that night. And when she took her home, she heard her name. Lydia fainted, and Miss Pride found her so, and the whole story came out. When Miss Pride brought Lydia back to her lodging and left her there, she came to our shop and left a message with Paul Stach, asking me to go to Lydia at once. And when I heard the message and who had left it, I guessed what had happened, and I was terribly frightened.

I found

"I needed not to be frightened. Lydia quite calm, and very pleased to see me. She showed more pleasure in seeing me than she had ever shown before. Lydia and I are sure friends now.

"She is no longer bitter. I knew she had a longing for beautiful clothes and grand rooms, and I feared lest the sight of those to which she stands so terribly near, would hurt her. But then she saw the skeleton lurking amid the grandeur. And I think that she feels that John Pride, with his home and his upbringing, was as pitifully unprepared for life