HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND

BY

MRS. L. T. MEADE

AUTHOR OF "GIRLS OF THE TRUE BLUE, " "WILD KITTY, ""A GIRL OF THE PEOPLE, " ETC. , ETC. 

NEW YORKHURST & COMPANYPUBLISHERS

[Illustration: MRS. L. T. MEADE. ]

CHAPTER I. 

THE RICH CHARLOTTE. 

The room had three occupants, two were men, the third a woman. The menwere middle-aged and gray-haired, the woman on the contrary was in theprime of youth; she was finely made, and well proportioned. Her face wasperhaps rather too pale, but the eyes and brow were noble, and thesensitive mouth showed indications of heart as well as intellect. 

The girl, or rather young woman, for she was past five and twenty, satby the fire, a book on her knee. The two men had drawn chairs close to atable. The elder of these men bore such an unmistakable likeness to thegirl, that even the most casual observer must have guessed therelationship which existed between them. He was a handsome man, handsomer even than his daughter, but the same individualities markedboth faces. While, however, in the woman all was a profound serenity andcalm, the man had some anxious lines round the mouth, and someexpression, now coming, now going, in the fine gray eyes, whichbetokened a long-felt anxiety. 

The other and younger man was shrewd-looking and commonplace; but a veryclose observer of human nature might have said, "He may be commonplace, but do not feel too certain; he simply possesses one of those faceswhich express nothing, from which not the cleverest detective inScotland Yard could extract any secret. "

He was a man with plenty to say, and much humor, and at the moment thisstory opens he was laughing merrily and in a heart-whole way, and hisolder and graver companion listened with evident enjoyment. 

The room in which the three sat bore evidence of wealth. It was alibrary, and handsome books lay on the tables, and rare old folios couldhave been found by those who cared to look within the carefully lockedbookcases. Some manuscripts were scattered about, and by the girl'sside, on a small table, lay several carefully revised proofs, and evennow she was bending earnestly over a book of reference. 

"Well, Jasper, " said the elder man, when the younger paused for aninstant in his eager flow of words, "we have talked long enough aboutthat fine land you have just come from, for even Australian adventurescan keep--I am interested in something nearer home. What do you say toCharlotte there? She was but a baby when you saw her last. "

"She was five years old, " replied Jasper. "A saucy little imp, blessyou! just the kind that would be sure to grow into a fine woman. But totell the truth I don't much care to look at her, for she makes me feeluncommonly old and shaky. "

"You gave me twenty years to grow into a woman, uncle, " answered thepleasant voice of Charlotte Harman. "I could not choose but make gooduse of the time. "

"So you have, lass--so you have; I have been growing old and you havebeen growing beautiful; such is life; but never mind, your turn willcome. "

"But not for a long, long time, Lottie my pet, " interrupted the father. "You need not mind your uncle Jasper. These little speeches were alwayshis way. And I'll tell you something else, Jasper; that girl of mine hasa head worth owning on her shoulders, a head she knows how to use. Youwill not believe me when I say that she writes in this magazine andthis, and she is getting a book ready for the press; ay, and there'sanother thing. Shall I tell it, Charlotte?"

"Yes, father; it is no secret, " replied Charlotte. 

"It is this, brother Jasper; you have come home in time for a wedding. My girl is going to leave me. I shall miss her, for she is womanly inthe best sense of the word, and she is my only one; but there is acomfort--the man she is to marry is worthy of her. "

"And there is another comfort, father, " said Charlotte; "that though Ihope to be married, yet I never mean to leave you. You know that well, Ihave often told you so, " and here this grave young girl came over andkissed her father's forehead. 

He smiled back at her, all the care leaving his eyes as he did so. UncleJasper had sprung impatiently to his feet. 

"As to the lass being married, " he said, "that's nothing; all womenmarry, or if they don't they ought to. But what was that you said, John, about writing, writing in a printed book? You were joking surely, man?"

"No, I was not, " answered the father. "Go and show your uncle Jasperthat last article of yours, Charlotte. "

"Oh, heaven preserve us! no, " said uncle Jasper, backing a pace or two. "I'm willing with all my heart to believe it, if you swear it, but notthe article. Don't for heaven's sake, confront me with the article. "

"There's nothing uncommon in my writing for magazines, Uncle Jasper; agreat many girls do write now. I have three friends myself who----"

Uncle Jasper's red face had grown positively pathetic in its agitation. "What a place England must have become!" he interrupted with a groan. "Well, lass, I'll believe you, but I have one request to make. Tell mewhat you like about your wedding; go into all the raptures you care forover your wedding dress, and even over the lucky individual for whom youwill wear it; tell me twenty times a day that he's perfection, that youand you alone have found the eighth wonder of the world, but for thelove of heaven leave out about the books! The other will be hard tobear, but I'll endeavor to swallow it--but the books, oh! heavenpreserve us--leave out about the printed books. Don't mention theunlucky magazines for which you write. Don't breathe to me the thoughtswith which you fill them. Oh, if there's an awful creature under the sun'tis a blue-stocking, and to think I should have come back from Englandto find such a horror in the person of my own niece!"

CHAPTER II. 

THE POOR CHARLOTTE. 

While this light and playful scene was being enacted in a wealthy housein Prince's Gate, and Charlotte Harman and her father laughed merrilyover the Australian uncle's horror of authors and their works, anotherCharlotte was going through a very different part, in a different placein the great world's centre. 

There could scarcely be a greater contrast than between the small andvery shabby house in Kentish Town and the luxurious mansion inKensington. The parlor of this house, for the drawing-rooms were let tolodgers, was occupied by one woman. She sat by a little shabbily coveredtable, writing. The whole appearance of the room was shabby: thefurniture, the carpet, the dingy window panes, the tiny pretence of afire in the grate. It was not exactly a dirty room, but it lacked allbrightness and freshness. The chimney did not draw well, and now andthen a great gust of smoke would come down, causing the busy writer tostart and rub her smarting eyes. She was a young woman, as young asCharlotte Harman, with a slight figure and very pale face. There werepossibilities of beauty in the face. But the possibilities had come tonothing; the features were too pinched, too underfed, the eyes, inthemselves dark and heavily fringed, too often dimmed by tears. It was avery cold day, and sleet was beginning to fall, and the smoking chimneyhad a vindictive way of smoking more than ever, but the young womanwrote on rapidly, as though for bare life. Each page as she finished it, was flung on one side; some few fell on the floor, but she did not stopeven to pick them up. 

The short winter daylight had quite faded, and she had stood up to lightthe gas, when the room door was pushed slightly ajar, and one of thoselittle maids-of-all-work, so commonly seen in London, put in her untidyhead. 

"Ef you please, 'em, Harold's been and hurt Daisy, and they isquarreling h'ever so, and I think as baby's a deal worse, 'em. "

"I will go up to them, Anne, and you may stay down and lay the cloth fortea--I expect your master in early to-night. "

She put her writing materials hastily away, and with a light, quick stepran upstairs. She entered a room which in its size and generalshabbiness might better have been called an attic, and found herself inthe presence of three small children. The two elder ran to meet her withoutstretched arms and glad cries. The baby sat up in his cot and gazedhard at his mother with flushed cheeks and round eyes. 

She took the baby in her arms and sat down in a low rocking-chair closeto the fire. Harold and Daisy went on their little knees in front ofher. Now that mother had come their quarrel was quite over, and the poorbaby ceased to fret. 

Seated thus, with her little children about her there was no doubt atall that Charlotte Home had a pleasant face; the care vanished from hereyes as she looked into the innocent eyes of her babies, and as shenursed the seven-months-old infant she began crooning a sweet old songin a true, delicious voice, to which the other two listened withdelight:----

 "In the days when we went gipsying, A long time ago. "

"What's gipsying, mother?" asked Harold, aged six. 

"Something like picnicking, darling. People who live in the country, orwho are rich, "--here Mrs. Home sighed--"often, in the bright summerweather, take their dinner or their tea, and they go out into the woodsor the green fields and eat there. I have been to gypsy teas; they aregreat fun. We lit a fire and boiled the kettle over it, and made thetea; it was just the same tea as we had at home, but somehow it tastedmuch better out-of-doors. "

"Was that some time ago, mother?" asked little Daisy. 

"It would seem a long, long time to you, darling; but it was not so manyyears ago. "

"Mother, " asked Harold, "why aren't we rich, or why don't we live in thecountry?"

A dark cloud, caused by some deeper emotion than the mere fact of beingpoor, passed over the mother's face. 

"We cannot live in the country, " she said, "because your father has acuracy in this part of London. Your father is a brave man, and he mustnot desert his post. "

"Then why aren't we rich?" persisted the boy. 

"Because--because--I cannot answer you that, Harold; and now I must rundownstairs again. Father is coming in earlier than usual to-night, andyou and Daisy may come down for a little bit after tea--that is, if youpromise to be very good children now, and not to quarrel. See, baby hasdropped asleep; who will sit by him and keep him from waking until Annecomes back?"

"I, mother, " said Harold, and, "I, mother, " said Daisy. 

"That is best, " said the gentle-voiced mother; "you both shall keep himvery quiet and safe; Harold shall sit on this side of his little cot andDaisy at the other. "

Both children placed themselves, mute as mice, by the baby's side, withthe proud look of being trusted on their little faces. The mother kissedthem and flew downstairs. There was no time for quiet or leisurelymovement in that little house; in the dingy parlor, the gas had now beenlighted, and the fire burned better and brighter, and Anne with mostpraiseworthy efforts, was endeavoring to make some toast, which, alas!she only succeeded in burning. Mrs. Home took the toasting-fork out ofher hands. 

"There, Anne, that will do nicely: I will finish the toast. Now pleaserun away, and take Miss Mitchell's dinner up to her; she is to have alittle pie to-night and some baked potatoes; they are all waiting, andhot in the oven, and then please go back to the children. "

Anne, a really good-tempered little maid-of-all-work, vanished, and Mrs. Home made some fresh toast, which she set, brown, hot, and crisp, in thechina toast-rack. She then boiled a new-laid egg, and had hardlyfinished these final preparations before the rattle of the latch-key washeard in the hall-door, and her husband came in. He was a tall man, witha face so colorless that hers looked almost rosy by contrast; his voice, however, had a certain ring about it, which betokened that most rare andhappy gift to its possessor, a brave and courageous heart. The way inwhich he now said, "Ah, Lottie!" and stooped down and kissed her, had agood sound, and the wife's eyes sparkled as she sat down by thetea-tray. 

"Must you go out again to-night, Angus?" she said presently. 

"Yes, my dear. Poor Mrs. Swift is really dying at last. I promised tolook in on her again. "

"Ah, poor soul! has it really come? And what will those four childrendo?"

"We must get them into an Orphanage; Petterick has interest. I shallspeak to him. Lottie?"

"Yes, dear. "

"Beat up that fresh egg I saw you putting into the cupboard when I camein; beat it up, and add a little milk and a teaspoonful of brandy. Iwant to take it round with me to little Alice. That child has never lefther mother's side for two whole days and nights, and I believe hasscarcely tasted a morsel; I fear she will sink when all is over. "

Lottie rose at once and prepared the mixture, placing it, when ready, ina little basket, which her husband seldom went out without; but as sheput it in his hand she could not refrain from saying----

"I was keeping that egg for your breakfast, Angus; I do grudge it alittle bit. "

"And to eat it when little Alice wanted it so sorely would choke me, wife, " replied the husband; and then buttoning his thin overcoat tightlyabout him, he went out into the night. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE STORY. 

The children were at last in bed, the drawing-room lodger had finishedher dinner, the welcome time of lull in the day's occupations had come, and Mrs. Home sat by the dining-room fire. A large basket, filled withlittle garments ready for mending, lay on the floor at her feet, and herworking materials were close by; but, for a wonder, the busy fingerswere idle. In vain Daisy's frock pleaded for that great rent madeyesterday, and Harold's socks showed themselves most disreputably out atheels. Charlotte Home neither put on her thimble nor threaded herneedle; she sat gazing into the fire, lost in reverie. It was not a veryhappy or peaceful reverie, to judge from the many changes on herexpressive face. The words, "Shall I, or shall I not?" came often toher lips. Many things seemed to tear her judgment in divers ways; mostof all the look in her little son's eyes when he asked that eager, impatient question, "mother, why aren't we rich?" but other and oldervoices than little Harold's said to her, and they spoke pleadinglyenough, "Leave this thing alone; God knows what is best for you. As youhave gone on all these years, so continue, not troubling about what youcannot understand, but trusting to him. "

"I cannot; I am so tired sometimes, " sighed the poor young wife. 

She was still undetermined when her husband returned. There was a greatcontrast in their faces--a greater almost in their voices, in the toneof her dispirited, "Well, Angus, " and his almost triumphant answer, ----

"Well, Lottie, that hard fight has ended bravely. Thank God!"

"Ah! then the poor soul has gone, " said the wife, moving her husband'schair into the warmest corner. 

"She has truly gone; I saw her breathe her last. But there is no need toapply the word 'poor' to her; she has done with all that. You know whata weakly, troubled creature she always was, how temptation and doubtseemed to wrap her round like a mist, and prevent her seeing any of theshining of the blue sky. Well, it all passed away at the last, and therewas nothing but a steadfast looking into the very face of her Lord. Hecame for her, and she just stretched out her arms and went to Him. ThankGod for being privileged to witness such a death; it makes life far moreeasy. "

A little weariness had crept perceptibly into the brave voice of theminister as he said these last words. His wife laid her handsympathizingly on his. They sat silent for a few moments, then he spokeon a different subject, ----

"How is baby to-night, Lottie?"

"Better, I think; his tooth is through at last. He will have rest nowfor a bit, poor little darling. "

"We must be careful to keep him from catching another cold. And how isAnne getting on?"

"As well as we can expect from such an ignorant little mite. And oh!Angus, the nursery is such a cold, draughty room, and I do--I do wish wewere rich. "

The last words were tumbled out with a great irrepressible burst oftears. 

"Why, my Lottie, what has come to you?" said her husband, touched andalarmed by this rare show of feeling "What is it, dear? You wish we wererich, so do not I; I am quite content. I go among so very much poorerpeople than myself, Lottie, that it always seems to me I have far morethan my fair share of life's good things; but, at any rate my Lottie, crying won't make us rich, so don't waste your strength over it. "

"I can't help it sometimes, Angus; it goes to my heart to see youshivering in such a great-coat as you have just taken off, and then Iknow you want better food, and wine; you are so tired this moment youcan scarcely speak. What a lot of good some port wine would do you!"

"And what a lot of good, wishing for it will do me! Come Lottie, besensible; we must not begin to repine for what we have not got, andcannot get. Let us think of our mercies. "

"You make me ashamed of myself, Angus. But these thoughts don't come tome for nothing; the fact is--yes, I will tell you at last, I have longbeen making up my mind. The truth is, Angus, I can't look at thechildren--I can't look at you and see you all suffering, and hold mypeace any longer. We are poor, very--very--dreadfully poor, but we oughtto be rich. "

"Lottie!"

Such a speech, so uttered, would have called for reproof from AngusHome, had it passed the lips of another. But he knew the woman he hadmarried too well not to believe there was reason in her words. 

"I am sorry you have kept a secret from me, " he said. "What is thismystery, Lottie?"

"It was my mother, Angus. She begged of me to keep it to myself, and sheonly told me when she was dying. But may I just tell you all from thevery beginning?"

"Yes, dear. If it is a romance, it will just soothe me, for though I am, I own, tired, I could not sleep for a long time to come. "

"First, Angus, I must confess to a little bit of deceit I practised onyou. "

"Ah, Lottie!" said her husband playfully, "no wonder you cried, withsuch a heavy burden on your soul; but confess your sins, wife. "

"You know how it has always fretted me, our being poor, " said Charlotte. "Your income is only just sufficient to put bread into our mouths, and, indeed, we sometimes want even that. I have often lain awake at nightwondering how I could make a little money, and this winter, when it setin so very severe, set my thoughts harder to work on this great problemthan ever. The children did want so much, Angus--new boots, and littlewarm dresses--and so--and so--one day about a month ago, Mrs. Lisle, whoreads and writes so much, called, and I was very low, and she was kindand sympathizing; somehow, at last out it all came, I did so wish toearn money. She asked me if I could write a good clear hand, a handeasily read. I showed her what I could do, and she was good enough tocall it excellent. She said no more then, but the next day she cameearly. She brought me a MS. Written by a friend of hers; very illegibleit was. She would not tell me the name of her friend, but she said shewas a lady very desirous of seeing herself in print. If I would copythis illegible writing in my own good clear hand, the lady would give mefive pounds. I thought of the children's boots and their winter dresses, and I toiled over it. I confess now that it was weary work, and tired memore than I cared to own. I finished it to-day; this evening, justbefore you came home, that task was done; but this morning I didsomething else. You know Miss Mitchell is always kind enough to let mesee the _Times_. This morning Anne brought it down as usual, and, as Iran my eyes over it I was struck by an advertisement, 'A young ladyliving at Kensington wished for the services of an amanuensis, for somany hours daily. Remuneration good. ' I could not help it, Angus, myheart seemed to leap into my mouth. Then and there I put on my bonnet, and with a specimen of my handwriting in my pocket, went off to answerthe advertisement in person. The house was in Prince's Gate, Kensington:the name of the young lady who had advertised for my services wasHarman. "

"Harman! how strange, wife! your own name before you married. "

"Yes, dear; but such a different person from me, so rich, while I am sopoor; so very, very beautiful, and graceful, and gracious: she may havebeen a year or so younger than I, she was not much. She had a thoughtfulface, a noble face. I could have drawn tears from her eyes had Idescribed the little children, but I did not. It was delightful to lookupon her calm. Not for worlds would I disturb it; and, Angus, I foundout another thing--her name was not only Harman, but Charlotte Harman. "

There was no doubt at all that the other Charlotte was excited now, thecolor had come into her cheeks, her eyes sparkled. Her husband watchedher with undisguised surprise. 

"I made a good thing of it Angus, " she continued. "I am to go toPrince's Gate every morning, I am to be there at ten, and give myservices till one o'clock. I am then to have lunch with the young lady, and for all this, and the enjoyment of a good dinner into the bargain, Iam to receive thirty shillings a week. Does not it sound too good to betrue?"

"And that is how we are to be rich, Lottie. Well, go on and prosper. Iknow what an active little woman you are and how impossible it is foryou to let the grass grow under your feet. I do not object to yourtrying this thing, if it is not too much for your strength, and if youcan safely leave the children. "

"I have thought of the children, Angus; this is so much for their realinterest, that it would be a pity to throw it away. But, as you say, they must not be neglected. I shall ask that little Alice Martin to comein to look after them until I am back every day; she will be glad toearn half-a-crown a week. "

"As much in proportion, as your thirty shillings is to you--eh, Lottie?See how rich we are in reality. "

Mrs. Home sighed, and the bright look left her face. Her husbandperceived the change. 

"That is not all you have got to tell me, " he said. 

"No, it is only leading up to what I want to tell you. It is what hasset me thinking so hard all day that I can keep it to myself no longer. Angus, prepare for a surprise; that beautiful young lady, who bears thesame name I bore before I was married--is--is--she is my near relation. "

"Your near relation, Charlotte? But I never knew you had any nearrelations. "

"No, dear, I never told you; my mother thought it best that you shouldnot know. She only spoke to me of them when she was dying. She was sorryafterwards that she had even done that; she begged of me, unless greatnecessity arose, not to say anything to you. It is only because it seemsto me the necessity has really come that I speak of what gave my mothersuch pain to mention. "

"Yes, dear, you have wealthy relations. I don't know that it mattersvery greatly. But go on. "

"There is more than that, Angus, but I will try to tell you all. Youknow how poor I was when you found me, and gave me your love andyourself. "

"We were both poor, Lottie; so much so that we thought two hundred ayear, which was what we had to begin housekeeping on, quite riches. "

"Yes, Angus; well, I had been poor all my life, I could never do whatrich girls did, I was so accustomed to wearing shabby dresses, andeating plain food, and doing without the amusements which seem to comenaturally into the lives of most young girls, that I had ceased to missthem. I was sent to a rather good school, and had lessons in music andpainting, and I sometimes wondered how my mother had money even to giveme these. Then I met you, and we were married. It was just after ourlittle Harold was born that my mother died. "

"Yes, you went down into Hertfordshire; you were away for six weeks. "

"I took Harold with me; mother was so proud of him. Whenever she had aneasy moment, she used to like to have him placed on her knee. She toldme then that she had a little son older than I, who died, and that ourHarold reminded her of him. One night, I remember so well, I was sittingup with her. She had been going through great pain, but towards themorning she was easier. She was more inclined, however, to talk than tosleep. She began again speaking about the likeness between our Haroldand my little brother who died. 

"'I shall give you little Edgar's christening robe for Harold, ' shesaid. 'I never could bear to part with it before but I don't mind hishaving it. Open my wardrobe, Charlotte, and you will find it folded awayin a blue paper, in the small wooden box. '

"I did so, and took out a costly thing, yellow, it is true, with age, but half covered with most valuable lace. 

"'Why, mother, ' I exclaimed, 'how did you ever get such a valuable dressas this? Why, this lace would be cheap at a guinea a yard!'

"'It cost a great deal more than that, ' replied mother, stroking downthe soft lace and muslin with her thin fingers; 'but we were rich then, Lottie. '

"'Rich!' I said, 'rich! I never, never thought that you and I hadanything to say to money, mother. '

"'You don't remember your father, child?'

"'No, mother, ' I said; 'how could I? I was only two years old when hedied. '

"Mother was silent after that, and I think she went into a doze, but mycuriosity and wonder were excited, and I could not help seeking to knowmore. 

"'I never knew that we were rich, ' I said again the next day. 'Why didyou never tell me before? The next best thing to enjoying riches wouldbe to hear about them. '

"'I did not want to make you discontented, Lottie. I thought what youhad never known or thought of you would never miss. I feared, my dear, to make you discontented. '

"'But I have thought of money, ' I owned, 'I have thought of it lately agreat deal. When I look at Angus I long to get him every luxury, and Iwant my little Harold to grow up surrounded by those things which helpto develop a fine and refined character. 

"'But they don't, Lottie; they don't indeed, ' answered my dear dyingmother. 'Riches bring a snare--they debase the character, they don'tennoble it. '

"'Mother, ' I said, 'I see plainly that you are well acquainted with thissubject. You will tell me, mother, what you know?'

"'Yes, ' replied my mother; 'it won't do you the least good; but as Ihave said so much to you I may as well tell the rest. '

"Then, Angus, my mother told me the following story; it is not verylong. 

"She was an orphan and a governess when my father found her and marriedher--she was my father's second wife. She was much younger than he--hehad grown-up sons--two grown-up sons at the time of his marriage; andthey were very deeply offended at his thinking of a second marriage. Soindignant were they that my father and they came to quite an openquarrel, and mother said that during the five years that my father livedshe never saw either of her stepsons until just at the close. She wasvery happy as my father's wife; he loved her dearly, and as he hadplenty of money she wanted for nothing. My father was an old man, as Ihave said, and he was tired of fuss, and also of much society; so thoughthey were so rich mother lived rather a lonely life--in a large andbeautiful place in Hertfordshire. She said the place was called theHermitage, and was one of the largest and best in the neighborhood. Atlast my father fell ill, very ill, and the doctors said he must die. Then for the first time there came hastening back to the Hermitage thetwo elder sons--their names were John and Jasper--the eldest John, mymother said, was very handsome, and very kind and courteous to her. Hewas a married man, and he told mother that he had a little daughter muchabout my age, who was also called Charlotte. My father and his two sonsseemed quite reconciled in these last days, and they spent most of theirtime with him. On the evening, however, before he died, he had motherand me with him alone. I sat on the bed, a little baby child of two, andmy father held mother's hand. He told mother how much he loved her, andhe spoke a very little about money matters. 

"'John will make it all right for you, Daisy, ' he said. 'John knows allabout my wishes with regard to you and little Charlotte. I should likethis little Charlotte and his to be friends; they are both called aftermy own mother, the best woman I ever met. You will bring up littleCharlotte with every comfort and refinement, dear wife. '

"The next day my father died, and John and Jasper went to London. Theydid not even wait for the funeral, though Jasper came back for it. John, he told mother, was kept by the sudden dangerous illness of his wife. Jasper said that John felt our father's death most dreadfully. Motherhad liked John, who was always very civil to her, but she could not bearJasper: she said he seemed a cleverer man than his brother, but shenever could get over a feeling of distrust towards him. The will wasnever read to my mother, but Jasper came back again from London to tellher of its contents, and then judge of her surprise--her name was noteven mentioned, neither her name nor mine. She had been married withoutsettlements, and every farthing of all my father's great wealth was leftto his two sons, John and Jasper. Jasper expressed great surprise; heeven said it was a monstrously unfair thing of his father to do, andthat certainly he and his brother would try to rectify it in a measure. He then went back to London, and mother was left alone in the greatempty house. She said she felt quite stunned, and was just then in suchgrief for my father that she scarcely heeded the fact that she was leftpenniless. Two days afterwards a lawyer from London came down to seeher. He came with a message from her two stepsons. They were muchconcerned for her, and they were willing to help her. They would allowher, between them, as long as she lived the interest on three thousandpounds--on one condition. The condition was this: she was never to claimthe very least relationship with them; she was to bring up her daughteras a stranger to them. They had never approved of their father'smarrying her; they would allow her the money on condition that allconnection between them be completely dropped. The day it was renewed byeither mother or daughter, on that day the interest on the threethousand pounds would cease to be paid. My mother was too young, toocompletely inexperienced, and too bowed down with grief, to make theleast objection. Only one faint protest did she make. 'My husband said, 'she faltered, 'on the very last day of his life, he said that he wishedmy little Charlotte and that other Charlotte in London to be friends. 'But the lawyer only shook his head. On this point his clients were firm. 'All communication between the families must cease. '

"That is the story, Angus, " continued Charlotte Home, suddenly changingher voice, and allowing her eyes, which had been lowered during herbrief recital, to rise to her husband's face. "My dear mother died a dayor two afterwards. She died regretting having to own even what she did, and begging me not to think unkindly of my father, and not to unsettleyour mind by telling you what could do no good whatever. 

"'I do not think unkindly of my father, mother, ' I answered, 'and I willnot trouble my husband's mind, at least, not yet, never, perhaps, unlessfitting opportunity arises. But I know what I think, mother--what, indeed, I know. That was not my father's real will; my brothers John andJasper have cheated you. Of this I am very sure. '

"Mother, though she was so weak and dying, got quite a color into hercheeks when I said this. 'No, no, ' she said, 'don't harbor such athought in your heart--my darling, my darling. Indeed it is utterlyimpossible. It was a real, real will. I heard it read, and yourbrothers, they were gentlemen. Don't let so base a thought of them dwellin your heart. It is, I know it is, impossible. '

"I said no more to trouble my dear mother and shortly afterwards shedied. That is six years ago. "

CHAPTER IV. 

TWO WAYS OF LOOKING AT IT. 

After the story was finished the husband and wife sat for a long timeside by side, in absolute silence. Both pairs of eyes were fixed on theglowing embers in the fire; the wife's reflected back both the lightsand the shadows; they were troubled eyes, troubled with possible joy, troubled also with the dark feelings of anger. The husband's, on thecontrary, were calm and steady. No strong hope was visiting them, butdespair, even disquietude, seemed miles away. Presently the wife's smallnervous fingers were stretched out to meet her husband's, his closedover them, he turned his head, met her anxious face, smiled and spoke. 

"So it seems on the cards that you might have been rich, Lottie. Well, it was unjust of your father not to have made some provision for yourmother and you, but--but--he has long been dead, the whole thing isover. Let it pass. "

"Angus! do you know what I should like?" asked his wife. 

"No. What?"

"I should like to meet those two men, John and Jasper Harman, face toface, and ask them without the least preamble or preparation, what theyhave done with my father's real will?"

"Dear Lottie, you must get this strange idea out of your head. It is notright of you to harbor such thoughts of any men. "

"I should like to look so hard at them, " continued Charlotte, scarcelyheeding her husband's words. "I know their eyes would flinch, they wouldbe startled, they would betray themselves. Angus, I can't help it, theconviction that is over me is too strong to be silenced. For years, eversince my mother told me that story, I have felt that we have beenwronged, nay, robbed of our own. But when I entered that house to-dayand found myself face with my half-brother's daughter, when I foundmyself in the house that I had been forbidden to enter, I felt--I knew, that a great wrong had been committed. My father! Why should I thinkill of my father, Angus? Is it likely that he would have made noprovision for my mother whom he loved, or for me? Is it likely that hewould have left everything he possessed to the two sons with whom he hadso bitterly quarrelled, that for years they had not even met? Is itlikely? Angus, you are a just man, and you will own to the truth. Is itlikely, that with his almost dying breath, he should have assured mymother that all was settled that she could bring me up well, in comfortand luxury, that Charlotte Harman and I should be friends? No, Angus! Ibelieve my father; he was a good and just man always; and, even if hewas not, dying men don't tell lies. "

"I grant that it seems unlikely, Lottie; but then, on the other hand, what do you accuse these men of? Why, of no less a crime than forging awill, of suppressing the real will, and bringing forward one of theirown manufacture. Why, my dear wife, such an act of villainy would be notonly difficult, but, I should say, impossible. "

"I don't know _how_ it was done, Angus, but something was done, of thatI am sure, and what that thing was I shall live, please God, to findout. "

"Then you--you, a clergyman's wife--the wife of a man who lives toproclaim peace on earth, good-will to men, you go into your brother'shouse as a spy!"

Mrs. Home colored. Her husband had risen from his chair. 

"You shall not do that, " he said; "I am your husband, and I forbid it. You can only go to the Harmans, if they are indeed the near relationsyou believe them to be, on one condition. "

"And that?" said Charlotte. 

"That you see not only Mr. Harman's daughter, but Mr. Harman himself;that you tell him exactly who you are.... If, after hearing your story, he allows you to work for his daughter, you can do so without againalluding to the relationship. If they wish it dropped, drop it, Lottie;work for them as you would for any other strangers, doing your best workbravely and well. But begin openly. Above all things thinking no evil inyour heart of them. "

"Then I cannot go on these conditions, Angus, for I cannot feel charityin my heart towards Mr. Harman. It seemed such a good thing thismorning. But I must give it up. "

"And something else will come in it's place, never fear; but I did notknow until to-night that my Lottie so pined for riches. "

"Angus, I do--I do--I want Harold to go to a good school, Daisy to beeducated, little Angus to get what is necessary for his health, andabove all, you, my dearest, my dearest, to have a warm overcoat, andport wine: the overcoat when you are cold, the port wine when you aretired. Think of having these luxuries, not only for yourself, but togive away to your poor, Angus, and I am sure we ought to have them. "

"Ah, Lottie! you are a witch, you try to tempt me, and all these thingssound very pleasant. But don't dream of what we haven't, let us live forthe many, many things we have. "

CHAPTER V. 

LOVE IN A DIAMOND. 

The next day Angus Home went out early as usual, about his many parishduties; this was it was true, neither a feast nor a fast day, nor had heto attend a morning service, but he had long ago constituted himselfchief visitor among the sick and poorest of his flock, and such workoccupied him from morning to night. Perhaps in a nature naturallyinclined to asceticism, this daily mingling with the very poor and thevery suffering, had helped to keep down all ambitions for earthly goodthings, whether those good things came in the guise of riches or honors;but though unambitious and very humble, never pushing himself forward, doing always the work that men who considered themselves more fastidiouswould shun, never allowing his voice to be heard where he believed wisermen than he might speak, Mr. Home was neither morbid nor unhappy; one ofhis greatest characteristics was an utter absence of allself-consciousness. 

The fact was, the man, though he had a wife whom he loved, and childrenvery dear to him, had grown accustomed to hold life lightly; to him lifewas in very truth a pilgrimage, a school, a morning which should usherin the great day of the future. His mental and spiritual eyes were fixedexpectantly and longingly on that day; and in connection with it, itwould be wrong to say that he was without ambition, for he had a veryearnest and burning desire, not only for rank but for kingship by andby: he wanted to be crowned with the crown of righteousness. 

Angus Home knew well that to wear that crown in all its lustre in thefuture, it must begin to fit his head down here; and he also knew thatthose who put on such crowns on earth, find them, as their great andblessed Master did before them, made of thorns. 

It is no wonder then that the man with so simple a faith, so Christ-likea spirit, should not be greatly concerned by his wife's story of thenight before. He did not absolutely forget it, for he pondered over itas he wended his way to the attic where the orphan Swifts lived. He feltsorry for Lottie as he thought of it, and he hoped she would soon ceaseto have such uncharitable ideas of her half-brothers; he himself couldnot even entertain the notion that any fraud had been committed; he feltrather shocked that his Lottie should dwell on so base a thing. 

There is no doubt that this saint-like man could be a tiny bitprovoking; and so his wife felt when he left her without again alludingto their last night's talk. After all it is wives and mothers who feelthe sharpest stings of poverty. Charlotte had known what to be poormeant all her life, as a child, as a young girl, as a wife, as a mother, but she had been brave enough about it, indifferent enough to it, untilthe children came; but from the day her mother's story was told her, andshe knew how close the wings of earthly comfort had swept her by, discontent came into her heart. Discontent came in and grew with thebirth of each fresh little one. She might have made her children socomfortable, she could do so little with them; they were pretty childrentoo. It went to her heart to see their beauty disfigured in uglyclothes; she used to look the other way with a great jealous pang, whenshe saw children not nearly so beautiful as hers, yet looked at andadmired because of their bright fresh colors and dainty littlesurroundings. But poverty brought worse stings than these. The smallhouse in Kentish Town was hot and stifling in the months of July andAugust; the children grew pale and pined for the fresh country air whichcould not be given to them; Lottie herself grew weak and languid, andher husband's pale face seemed to grow more ethereal day by day. At allsuch times as these did Charlotte Home's mind and thoughts refer backto her mother's story, and again and again the idea returned that agreat, great wrong had been done. 

In the winter when this story opens, poverty came very close to thelittle household. They were, it is true, quite out of debt, but theywere only so because the food was kept so scanty, the fires so low, dress so very insufficient to keep at a distance the winter's bittercold; they were only out of debt because the mother slaved from morningto night, and the father ate less and less, having, it is to be feared, less and less appetite to eat. 

Then the wife and mother grew desperate, money must be brought in--howcould it be done? The doctor called and said that baby Angus would dieif he had not more milk--he must have what is called in Londonbaby-milk, and plenty of it. Such milk in Kentish Town meant money. Lottie resolved that baby Angus should not die. In answering anadvertisement which she hoped would give her employment, sheaccidentally found herself in her own half-brother's house. There wasthe wealth which had belonged to her father; there were the riches towhich she was surely born. How delicious were those soft carpets; hownice those cushioned seats; how pleasant those glowing fires; what anair of refinement breathed over everything; how grand it was to beserved by those noiseless and well-trained servants; how great a thingwas wealth, after all!

She thought all this before she saw Charlotte Harman. Then the graciousface, the noble bearing, the kindly and sweet manner of this girl of herown age, this girl who might have been her dearest friend, who was sonearly related to her, filled her with sudden bitterness; she believedherself immeasurably inferior to Miss Harman, and yet she knew that shemight have been such another. She left the house with a mingled feelingof relief and bitterness. She was earning present money. What might shenot discover to benefit her husband and children by and by?

In the evening, unable to keep her thoughts to herself, she told themand her story for the first time to her husband. Instantly he tore theveil from her eyes. Was she, his wife, to go to her own brother's houseas a spy? No! a thousand times no! No wealth, however needed, would beworth purchasing at such a price. If Charlotte could not banish from hermind these unworthy thoughts, she must give up so excellent a means ofearning money. 

Poor Charlotte! The thoughts her husband considered so mean, so untrue, so unworthy, had become by this time part of her very being. Oh! mustthe children suffer because unrighteous men enjoyed what was rightfullytheirs?

For the first time, the very first time in all her life, she feltdiscontented with her Angus. If only he were a little more everyday, alittle more practical; if only he would go to the bottom of thismystery, and set her mind at rest!

She went about her morning duties in a state of mental friction andaggravation, and, as often happens, on this very morning when she seemedleast able to bear it, came the proverbial last straw. Anne, the littlemaid, put in her head at the parlor door. 

"Ef you please, 'em, is Harold to wear 'em shoes again? There's holesthrough and through of 'em, and it's most desp'rate sloppy out of doorsthis mornin'. "

Mrs. Home took the little worn-out shoes in her hand; she saw at aglance that they were quite past mending. 

"Leave them here, Anne, " she said. "You are right, he cannot wear theseagain. I will go out at once and buy him another pair. "

The small maid disappeared, and Charlotte put her hand into her pocket. She drew out her purse with a sinking heart. Was there money enough init to buy the necessary food for the day's consumption, and also to getnew shoes for Harold? A glance showed her but too swiftly there was not. She never went on credit for anything--the shoes must wait, and Haroldremain a prisoner in the house that day. She went slowly up to thenursery: Daisy and baby could go out and Harold should come down to theparlor to her. 

But one glance at her boy's pale face caused her heart to sink. He was ahandsome boy--she thought him aristocratic, fit to be the son of aprince--but to-day he was deadly pale, with that washy look whichchildren who pine for fresh air so often get. He was standing in rathera moping attitude by the tiny window; but at sight of his mother he flewto her. 

"Mother, Anne says I'm to have new shoes. Have you got them? I am soglad. "

No, she could not disappoint her boy. A sudden idea darted through herbrain. She would ask Miss Mitchell, the drawing-room boarder, to lendher the three-and-sixpence which the little shoes would cost. It was thefirst time she had ever borrowed, and her pride rose in revolt at evennaming the paltry sum--but, for the sake of her boy's pale face?

"I am going out to buy the shoes, " she said, stooping down to kiss thesweet upturned brow; and she flew downstairs and tapped at thedrawing-room door. 

Miss Mitchell was a lady of about fifty; she had been with them now fornearly a year, and what she paid for the drawing-room and best bedroombehind it, quite covered the rent of the shabby little house. MissMitchell was Charlotte Home's grand standby; she was a veryuninteresting person, neither giving nor looking for sympathy, neverconcerning herself about the family in whose house she lived. But then, on the other hand, she was easily pleased; she never grumbled, she paidher rent like clockwork. She now startled Lottie by coming instantlyforward and telling her that it was her intention to leave after theusual notice; she found the baby's fretful cries too troublesome, forher room was under the nursery; this was one reason. Another, perhapsthe most truthful one, was, that her favorite curate in St. Martin'sChurch over the way, had received promotion to another and morefashionable church, and she would like to move to where she could stillbe under his ministry. Charlotte bowed; there was nothing for it but toaccept the fact that her comfortable lodger must go. Where could shefind a second Miss Mitchell, and how could she possibly now ask for theloan of three and sixpence?

She left the room. Where was the money to come from to buy Harold'sshoes? for that little pleading face must not be disappointed. This carewas, for the moment, more pressing than the loss of Miss Mitchell. Howshould she get the money for her boy? She pressed her hand to her browto think out this problem. As she did so, a ring she wore on herwedding-finger flashed; it was her engagement ring, a plain gold band, only differing from the wedding-ring, which it now guarded, in that itpossessed one small, very small diamond. The diamond was perhaps thesmallest that could be purchased, but it was pure of its kind, and thetiny gem now flashed a loving fire into her eyes, as though it wouldspeak if it could in answer to her inquiry. Yes, if she sold this ring, the money would be forthcoming. It was precious, it symbolized much toher; she had no other to act as guard; but it was not so precious as theblue eyes of her first-born. Her resolve was scarcely conceived beforeit was put in practice. She hastened out with the ring; a jewellerlived not far away; he gave her fifteen shillings, and Charlotte, feeling quite rich, bought the little shoes and hurried home. 

As she almost flew along the sloppy streets a fresh thought came to her. Yes! she must certainly decline that very excellent situation with MissHarman. That sorely wanted thirty shillings a week must be given up, there was no question about that. Bitter were her pangs of heart as sherelinquished the precious money, but it would be impossible for her togo to her brother's house in the only spirit in which her husband wouldallow her to go. Yes; she must give it up. When the children were atlast fairly started on their walk she would sit down and write to MissHarman. But why should she write? She stood still as the thought came toher to go to Miss Harman in person; to tell her from her own lips thatshe must not visit that house, or see her daily. She might or might nottell her who she really was; she would leave that to circumstances; butshe would at least once more see her brother's house and look into theeyes of her brother's child. It would be a short, soon-lived-throughexcitement. Still she was in that mood when to sit still in inactivitywas impossible; the visit would lead to nothing, but still she would payit; afterwards would be time enough to think of finding some one toreplace Miss Mitchell, of trying to buy again her engagement ring, ofpurchasing warm clothes for her little ones. 

CHAPTER VI. 

IN PRINCE'S GATE. 

Having arranged her household matters, been informed of another pair ofboots which could not last many days longer, seen to the children'sdinner, and finally started the little group fairly off for their walkwith Anne, Charlotte ran upstairs, put on her neat though thin and wornblack silk, her best jacket and bonnet and set off to Kensington to seeMiss Harman. 

She reached the grand house in Prince's Gate about twelve o'clock. Theday had indeed long begun for her, but she reflected rather bitterlythat most likely Miss Harman had but just concluded her breakfast. Shefound, however, that she had much wronged this energetic young lady. Breakfast had been over with some hours ago, and when Mrs. Home askedfor her, the footman who answered her modest summons said that MissHarman was out, but had left directions that if a lady called she was tobe asked to wait. 

Charlotte was taken up to Miss Harman's own private sitting room, where, after stirring the fire, and furnishing her with that morning's _Times_, the servant left her alone. 

Mrs. Home was glad of this. She drew her comfortable easy chair to thefire, placed her feet upon the neat brass rail, closed her eyes, andtried to fancy herself alone. Had her father lived, such comforts asthese would have been matters of everyday occurrence to her. Common asthe air she breathed would this grateful warmth be then to her thinlimbs, this delicious easy chair to her aching back. Had her fatherlived, or had justice been done, in either case would soft ease havebeen her portion. She started from her reclining position and lookedround the room. A parrot swung lazily on his perch in one of thewindows. Two canaries sang in a gilded cage in the other. How Harold andDaisy would love these birds! Just over her head was a very beautifullyexecuted portrait in oils of a little child, most likely Miss Harman inher infancy. Ah, yes, but baby Angus at home was more beautiful. Aportrait of him would attract more admiration than did that of the prouddaughter of all this wealth. Tears started unbidden to the poorperplexed mother's eyes. It was hard to sit quiet with this burning painat her heart. Just then the door was opened and an elderly gentlemanwith silver hair came in. He bowed, distantly to the stranger sitting byhis hearth, took up a book he had come to seek, and withdrew. Mrs. Homehad barely time to realize that this elderly man must really be thebrother who had supplanted her, when a sound of feet, of voices, ofpleasant laughter, drew near. The room door was again opened, andCharlotte Harman, accompanied by two gentlemen, came in. The elder ofthe two men was short and rather stout, with hair that had once beenred, but was now sandy, keen, deep-set eyes, and a shrewd, ratherpleasant face. Miss Harman addressed him as Uncle Jasper, and theycontinued firing gay badinage at one another for a moment withoutperceiving Mrs. Home's presence. The younger man was tall andsquare-shouldered, with a rather rugged face of some power. He mighthave been about thirty. He entered the room by Miss Harman's side, andstood by her now with a certain air of proprietorship. 

"Ah! Mrs. Home, " said the young lady, quickly discovering her visitorand coming forward and shaking hands with her at once, "I expected you. I hope you have not waited long, John, " turning to the young man, "willyou come back at four? Mrs. Home and I have some little matters to talkover, and I daresay her time is precious. I shall be quite ready to goout with you at four. Uncle Jasper, my father is in the library; willyou take him this book from me?"

Uncle Jasper, who had been peering with all his might out of hisshort-sighted eyes at the visitor, now answered with a laugh, "We arepolitely dismissed, eh? Hinton, " and taking the arm of the younger manthey left the room. 

CHAPTER VII. 

IT INTERESTS HER. 

"And now, Mrs Home, we will have some lunch together up here, and thenafterwards we can talk and quite finish all our arrangements, " said therich Charlotte, looking with her frank and pleasant eyes at the poorone. She rang a bell as she spoke, and before Mrs. Home had time toreply, a tempting little meal was ordered to be served without delay. 

"I have been with my publishers this morning, " said Miss Harman. "Theyare good enough to say they believe my tale promises well, but they wantit completed by the first of March, to come out with the best springbooks. Don't you think we may get it done? It is the middle of Januarynow. "

"I daresay it may be done, " answered Mrs. Home, rising, and speaking ina tremulous voice. "I have no doubt you will work hard and have itready--but--but--I regret it much, I have come to-day to say I cannottake the situation you have so kindly offered me. "

"But why?" said Miss Harman, "why?" Some color came into her cheeks asshe added, "I don't understand you. I thought you had promised. Ithought it was all arranged yesterday. "

Her tone was a little haughty, but how well she used it; how keenly Mrs. Home felt the loss of what she was resigning. 

"I did promise you, " she said; "I feel you have a right to blame me. Itis a considerable loss to me resigning your situation, but my husbandhas asked me to do so. I must obey my husband, must I not?"

"Oh! yes, of course. But why should he object. He is a clergyman, is henot? Is he too proud--I would tell no one. All in this house shouldconsider you simply as a friend. Our writing would be just a secretbetween you and me. Your husband will give in when you tell him that. "

"He is not in the least proud, Miss Harman--not proud I mean in thatfalse way. "

"Then I am not giving you money enough--of course thirty shillings seemstoo little; I will gladly raise it to two pounds a week, and if thisbook succeeds, you shall have more for helping me with the next. "

Mrs. Home felt her heart beating. How much she needed, how keenly shelonged for that easily earned money. "I must not think of it, " she said, however, shaking her head. "I confess I want money, but I must earn itelsewhere. I cannot come here. My husband will only allow me to do so ona certain condition. I cannot even tell you the condition--certainly Icannot fulfil it, therefore I cannot come. "

"Oh! but that is exciting. _Do_ tell it to me. "

"If I did you would be the first to say I must never come to this houseagain. "

"I am quite sure you wrong me there. I may as well own that I have takena fancy to you. I am a spoiled child, and I always have my own way. Mypresent way is to have you here in this snug room for two or three hoursdaily--you and I working in secret over something grand. I always get myway so your conditions must melt into air. Now, what are they?"

"Dare I tell her?" thought Mrs. Home. Aloud she said, "The conditionsare these:--I must tell you a story, a story about myself--and--andothers. "

"And I love stories, especially when they happen in real life. "

"Miss Harman, don't tempt me. I want to tell you, but I had better not;you had better let me go away. You are very happy now, are you not?"

"What a strange woman you are, Mrs. Home! Yes, I am happy. "

"You won't like my story. It is possible you may not be happy after youhave heard it. "

"That is a very unlikely possibility. How can the tale of an absolutestranger affect my happiness?" These words were said eagerly--a littlebit defiantly. 

But Mrs. Home's face had now become so grave, and there was such aneager, almost frightened look in her eyes, that her companion's toochanged. After all what was this tale? A myth, doubtless; but she wouldhear it now. 

"I accept the risk of my happiness being imperiled, " she said. "I chooseto hear the tale--I am ready. "

"But I may not choose to tell, " said the other Charlotte. 

"I would make you. You have begun--begun in such a way that you _must_finish. "

"Is that so?" replied Mrs. Home. The light was growing more and moreeager in her eyes. She said to herself, "The die is cast. " There rose upbefore her a vision of her children--of her husband's thin face. Hervoice trembled. 

"Miss Harman--I will speak--you won't interrupt me?"

"No, but lunch is on the table. You must eat something first. "

"I am afraid I cannot with that story in prospect; to eat would chokeme!"

"What a queer tale it must be!" said the other Charlotte. "Well, so beit. " She seated herself in a chair at a little distance from Mrs. Home, fixed her gaze on the glowing fire, and said, "I am ready. I won'tinterrupt you. "

The poor Charlotte, too, looked at the fire. During the entire tellingof the tale neither of these young women glanced at the other. 

"It is my own story, " began Mrs. Home: then she paused, and continued, "My father died when I was two years old. During my father's lifetime I, who am now so poor, had all the comforts that you must have had, MissHarman, in your childhood. He died, leaving my mother, who was bothyoung and pretty, nothing. She was his second wife, for five years shehad enjoyed all that his wealth could purchase for her. He died, leavingher absolutely penniless. My mother was, as I have said, a second wife. My father had two grown-up sons. These sons had quarrelled with him atthe time of his marrying my young mother; they came to see him and werereconciled on his deathbed. He left to these sons every penny of hisgreat wealth. The sons expressed surprise when the will was read. Theyeven blamed my father for so completely forgetting his wife and youngestchild. They offered to make some atonement for him. During my mother'slifetime they settled on her three thousand pounds; I mean the interest, at five per cent. , on that sum. It was to return to them at her death, it was not to descend to me, and my mother must only enjoy it on onecondition. The condition was, that all communication must cease betweenmy father's family and hers. On the day she renewed it the money wouldcease to be paid. My mother was young, a widow, and alone; she acceptedthe conditions, and the money was faithfully paid to her until the dayof her death. I was too young to remember my father, and I only heardthis story about him on my mother's deathbed; then for the first time Ilearned that we might have been rich, that we were in a measure meant toenjoy the good things which money can buy. My mother had educated mewell, and you may be quite sure that with an income of one hundred andfifty pounds a year this could only be done by practising the strictesteconomy. I was accustomed to doing without the pretty dresses and nicethings which came as natural to other girls as the air they breathed. Inmy girlhood, I did not miss these things; but at the time of my mother'sdeath, at the time the story first reached my ears, I was married, andmy eldest child was born. A poor man had made me, a poor girl his wife, and, Miss Harman, let me tell you, that wives and mothers do long formoney. The longing with them is scarcely selfish, it is for the beingsdearer than themselves. There is a pain beyond words in denying yourlittle child what you know is for that child's good, but yet which youcannot give because of your empty purse; there is a pain in seeing yourhusband shivering in too thin a coat on bitter winter nights. You knownothing of such things--may you never know them; but they have gonequite through my heart, quite, quite through it. Well, that is my story;not much, you will say, after all. I might have been rich, I am poor, that is my story. "

"It interests me, " said Miss Harman, drawing a long breath, "itinterests me greatly; but you will pardon my expressing my realfeelings: I think your father was a cruel and unjust man. "

"I think my brothers, my half-brothers, were cruel and unjust. I don'tbelieve that was my father's real will. "

"What! you believe there was foul play? This is interesting--if so, ifyou can prove it, you may be righted yet. Are your half-brothersliving?"

"Yes. "

"And you think you have proof that you and your mother were unjustlytreated?"

"I have no proof, no proof whatever, Miss Harman, I have onlysuspicions. "

"Oh! you will tell me what they are?"

"Even they amount to very little, and yet I feel them to be certainties. On the night before my father died he told my mother that she and Iwould be comfortably off; he also said that he wished that I and hisson's little daughter, that other Charlotte he called her, should growup together as sisters. My father was a good man, his mind was notwandering at all, why should he on his deathbed have said this if heknew that he had made such an unjust will, if he knew that he had leftmy mother and her little child without a sixpence?"

"Yes, " said Miss Harman slowly and thoughtfully, "it looks strange. "

After this for a few moments both these young women were silent. Mrs. Home's eyes again sought the fire, she had told her story, theexcitement was over, and a dull despair came back over her face. Charlotte Harman, on the contrary, was deep in that fine speculationwhich seeks to succor the oppressed, her grey eyes glowed, and a faintcolor came in to her cheeks. After a time she said--

"I should like to help you to get your rights. You saw that gentlemanwho left the room just now, that younger gentleman, I am to be his wifebefore long--he is a lawyer, may I tell him your tale?"

"No, no, not for worlds. " Here Mrs. Home in her excitement rose to herfeet. "I have told the story, forget it now, let it die. "

"What a very strange woman you are, Mrs. Home! I must say I cannotunderstand you. "

"You will never understand me. But it does not matter, we are not likelyto meet again. I saw you for the first time yesterday. I love you, Ithank you. You are a rich and prosperous young lady, you won't be tooproud to accept my thanks and my love. Now good-bye. "

"No, you are not going in that fashion. I do not see why you should goat all; you have told me your story, it only proves that you want moneyvery much, there is nothing at all to prevent your becoming myamanuensis. "

"I cannot, I must not. Let me go. "

"But why? I do not understand. "

"You will never understand. I can only repeat that I must not comehere. "

Mrs. Home could look proud when she liked. It was now Miss Harman's turnto become the suppliant; with a softness of manner which in sonoble-looking a girl was simply bewitching, she said gently----

"You confess that you love me. "

Mrs. Home's eyes filled with tears. 

"Because I do I am going away, " she said. 

She had just revealed by this little speech a trifle too much, thetrifle reflected a light too vivid to Charlotte Harman's mind, her facebecame crimson. 

"I will know the truth, " she said, "I will--I must. This story--you sayit is about you; is it all about you? has it anything to say to me?"

"No, no, don't ask me--good-bye. "

"I stand between you and the door until you speak. How old are you, Mrs. Home?"

"I am twenty-five. "

"That is my age. Who was that Charlotte your dying father wished you tobe a sister to?"

"I cannot tell you. "

"You cannot--but you must. I will know. Was it--but impossible! itcannot be--am _I_ that Charlotte?"

Mrs. Home covered her face with two trembling hands. The other woman, with her superior intellect, had discovered the secret she had feeblytried to guard. There was a pause and a dead silence. That silence toldall that was necessary to Charlotte Harman. After a time she saidgently, but all the fibre and tune had left her voice, ----

"I must think over your story, it is a very, very strange tale. You areright, you cannot come here; good-bye. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE WOMAN BY THE HEARTH. 

Mrs. Home went back to the small house in Kentish Town, and Miss Harmansat on by her comfortable fire. The dainty lunch was brought in and laidon the table, the young lady did not touch it. The soft-voiced, soft-footed servant brought in some letters on a silver salver. Theylooked tempting letters, thick and bulgy. Charlotte Harman turned herhead to glance at them but she left them unopened by her side. She hadcome in very hungry, from her visit to the publishers, and these letterswhich now lay so close had been looked forward to with some impatience, but now she could neither eat nor read. At last a pretty littletimepiece which stood on a shelf over her head struck four, and a clockfrom a neighboring church re-echoed the sound. Almost at the sameinstant there came a tap at her room door. 

"That is John, " said Charlotte. She shivered a little. Her face hadchanged a good deal, but she rose from her seat and came forward to meether lover. 

"Ready, Charlotte?" he said, laying his two hands on her shoulders; thenlooking into her face he started back in some alarm. "My dear, mydearest, something has happened; what is the matter?"

This young woman was the very embodiment of truth. She did not dream ofsaying, "Nothing is the matter. " She looked up bravely into the eyes sheloved best in the world and answered, ----

"A good deal is the matter, John. I am very much vexed and--andtroubled. "

"You will tell me all about it; you will let me help you?" said thelover, tenderly. 

"Yes, John dear, but not to-night. I want to think to-night. I want toknow more. To-morrow you shall hear; certainly to-morrow. No, I will notgo out with you. Is my father in? Is Uncle Jasper in?"

"Your father is out, and your uncle is going. I left him buttoning onhis great-coat in the hall. "

"Oh! I must see Uncle Jasper; forgive me, I must see him for a minute. "

She flew downstairs, leaving John Hinton standing alone, a littlepuzzled and a little vexed. Breathless she arrived in the hall to findher uncle descending the steps; she rushed after him and laid her handon his shoulder. 

"Uncle Jasper, I want you. Where are you going?"

"Hoity-toity, " said the old gentleman, turning round in some surprise, and even dismay when he caught sight of her face. "I am going to theclub, child. What next. I sent Hinton up to you. What more do you want?"

"I want you. I have a story to tell you and a question to ask you. Youmust come back. "

"Lottie, I said I would have nothing to do with those books of yours, and I won't. I hate novels, and I hate novelists. Forgive me, child. Idon't hate you; but if your father and John Hinton between them mean tospoil a fine woman by encouraging her to become that monster of nature, a blue-stocking, I won't help them, and that's flat. There now. Let mego. "

"It is no fiction I want to ask you, Uncle Jasper. It is a true tale, one I have just heard. It concerns me and you and my father. It haspained me very much, but I believe it can be cleared up. I would ratherask you than my father about it, at least at first; but either of youcan answer what I want to know; so if you will not listen to me I canspeak to my father after dinner. "

Uncle Jasper had one of those faces which reveal nothing, and itrevealed nothing now. But the keen eyes looked hard into the open grayeyes of the girl who stood by his side. 

"What thread out of that tangled skein has she got into her head?" hewhispered to himself. Aloud he said, "I will come back to dinner, Charlotte, and afterwards you shall take me up to your little snuggery. If you are in trouble, my dear, you had better confide in me than inyour father. He does not--does not look very strong. "

Then he walked down the street; but when he reached his club he did notenter it. He walked on and on. He puzzling, not so much over his niece'sstrange words as over something else. Who was that woman who sat byCharlotte's hearth that day?

CHAPTER IX. 

CHARLOTTE CANNOT BEAR THE DARK. 

The elder Mr. Harman had retired to his study, and Charlotte and heruncle sat side by side in that young lady's own private apartment. Theroom looked snug and sheltered, and the subdued light from a Queen'sreading-lamp, and from the glowing embers of a half burned-out fire, were very pleasant. Uncle Jasper was leaning back in an armchair, butCharlotte stood on the hearthrug. Soft and faint as the light was, itrevealed burning cheeks and shining eyes; but the old face these tokensof excitement appealed to remained completely in shadow. 

Charlotte had told the story she had heard that day, and during itswhole recital her uncle had sat motionless, making no comment either byword or exclamation. 

Mrs. Home's tale had been put into skilful hands. It was well told--allthe better because the speaker so earnestly hoped that its existencemight turn out a myth--that the phantom so suddenly conjured up mightdepart as quickly as it had arrived. At last the story came to aconclusion. There was a pause, and Charlotte said, ----

"Well, Uncle Jasper?"

"Well, Lottie?" he answered. And now he roused himself, and bent alittle forward. 

"Is the story true, Uncle Jasper?"

"It is certainly true, Charlotte, that my father and your grandfathermarried again. "

"Yes, uncle. "

"It is also highly probable that this young woman is the daughter ofthat marriage. When I saw her in this room to-day I was puzzled by anintangible likeness in her. This accounts for it. "

"Then why----" began Charlotte, and then she stopped. There was a wholeworld of bitterness in her tone. 

"Sit down, child, " said her uncle. He pointed to a footstool at hisfeet. Whenever he came into this room Charlotte had occupied thisfootstool, and he wanted her to take it now, but she would not; shestill kept her place on the hearth. 

"I cannot sit, " she said. "I am excited--greatly excited. This looks tome in the light of a wrong. "

"Who do you think has committed the wrong, Charlotte?"

Before she answered, Charlotte Harman lit a pair of candles which stoodon the mantelshelf. 

"There, now, " she said with a sigh of relief, "I can see your face. Itis dreadful to speak to any one in the dark. Uncle Jasper, if I had sonear a relation living all these years why was I never told of it? Ihave over and over again longed for a sister, and it seems I had one orone who might have been to me a sister. Why was I kept in ignorance ofher very existence?"

"You are like all women--unreasonable, Lottie. I am glad to find you sohuman, my dear; so human, and--and--womanly. You jump to conclusionswithout hearing reasons. Now I will give you the reasons. But I do wishyou would sit down. "

"I will sit here, " said Charlotte, and she drew a chair near the table. The room abounded in easy-chairs of all sizes and descriptions, but shechose one hard and made of cane, and she sat upright upon it, her handsfolded on her lap. "Now, Uncle Jasper, " she said, "I am ready to hearyour reasons. "

"They go a good way back, my dear, and I am not clever at telling astory; but I will do my best. Your grandfather made his money in trade;he made a good business, and he put your father and me both into it. Itis unnecessary to go into particulars about our special business; it wassmall at first, but we extended it until it became the great firm ofwhich your father is the present head. We both, your father and I, showed even more aptitude for this life of mercantile success than ourfather did, and he, perceiving this, retired while scarcely an old man. He made us over the entire business he had made, taking, however, fromit, for his own private use, a large sum of money. On the interest ofthis money he would live, promising, however, to return it to us at hisdeath. The money taken out of the business rather crippled us, and webegged of him to allow us to pay him the interest, and to let thecapital remain at our disposal; but he wished to be completely his ownmaster, and he bought a place in Hertfordshire out of part of themoney. It was a year or two after, that he met his second wife andmarried her. I don't pretend, " continued Uncle Jasper, "that we likedthis marriage or our stepmother. We were young fellows then, and wethought our father had done us an injustice. The girl he had chosen wasan insipid little thing, with just a pretty face, and nothing whateverelse. She was not quite a lady. We saw her, and came to the conclusionthat she was common--most unsuited to our father. We also remembered ourown mother; and most young men feel pain at seeing any one put into herplace. 

"We expostulated with our father. He was a fiery old man, and hot wordspassed between us. I won't repeat what we all said, my dear, or howbitter John and I felt when we rode away from the old place our fatherhad just purchased. One thing he said as we were going off. 

"'My marrying again won't make any money difference to you two fellows, and I suppose I may please myself. '"

"I think my grandfather was very unjust, " said Charlotte, butnevertheless a look of relief stole over her face. 

"We went back to our business, my dear, and our father married; and whenwe wrote to him he did not answer our letters. After a time we heard ason had been born, and then, shortly after the birth of this child, thenews reached us, that a lawyer had been summoned down to the manor-housein Hertfordshire. We supposed that our father was making provision forthe child; and it seemed to us fair enough. Then we saw the child'sdeath in the _Times_, and shortly after the news also came to us thatthe same lawyer had gone down again to see our father. 

"After this, a few years went by, and we, busy with our own life, gavelittle heed to the old man, who seemed to have forgotten us. Suddenly wewere summoned to his deathbed. John, your father, my dear, had alwaysbeen his favorite. On his deathbed he seemed to have returned to the oldtimes, when John was a little fellow. He liked to have him by his side;in short, he could not bear to have him out of his sight. He appeared tohave forgotten the poor, common little wife he had married, and to livehis early days over again. He died quite reconciled to us both, and weheld his hand as he breathed his last. 

"To our surprise, my dear, we found that he had left us every penny ofhis fortune. The wife and baby girl were left totally unprovided for. Wewere amazed! We thought it unjust. We instantly resolved to makeprovision for her and her baby. We did so. She never wanted to the dayof her death. "

"She did not starve, " interrupted Charlotte, "but you shut her out, herand her child, from yourselves, and from me. Why did you do this?"

"My dear, you would scarcely speak in that tone to your father, and itwas his wish as well as mine--indeed, far more his wish than mine. I wason the eve of going to Australia, to carry on a branch of our tradethere; but he was remaining at home. He was not very long married. Youdon't remember your mother, Charlotte. Ah! what a fine young creatureshe was, but proud--proud of her high birth--of a thousand things. Itwould have been intolerable to her to associate with one like mystepmother. Your father was particular about his wife and child. Hejudged it best to keep these undesirable relations apart. I, for one, can scarcely blame him. "

"I _will_ not blame my father, " said Charlotte. Again that look ofrelief had stolen over her face. The healthy tint, which was scarcelycolor, had returned to her cheek; and the tension of her attitude wasalso withdrawn, for she changed her seat, taking possession now of herfavorite easy-chair. "But I like Charlotte Home, " she said after apause. "She is--whatever her mother may have been--quite a lady. I thinkit is hard that when she is so nearly related to me she should be sopoor and I so rich. I will speak to my father. He asked me only thismorning what I should like as a wedding present. I know what I shalllike. He will give that three thousand pounds to Charlotte Home. Themoney her mother had for her life she shall have for ever. I know myfather won't refuse me. "

Charlotte's eyes were on the ground, and she did not see the darkexpression which for a moment passed over Jasper Harman's face. Beforehe answered her he poked the fire into a vigorous flame. 

"You are a generous girl, Lottie, " he said then. "I admire your spirit. But it is plain, my dear, that money has come as easily to you as thevery air you breathe, or you would not speak of three thousand pounds ina manner so light as almost to take one's breath away. Butsuppose--suppose the money could be given, there is another difficulty. To get that money for Mrs. Home, who, by the way, has her husband toprovide for her, you must tell this tale to your father--you must not dothat. "

"Why not?" asked Charlotte, opening her eyes wide in surprise. 

"Simply because he is ill, and the doctors have forbidden him to be inthe least agitated. "

"Uncle Jasper--I know he is not well, but I did not hear this; andwhy--why should what I have to say agitate him?"

"Because he cannot bear any allusion to the past. He loved his father;he cannot dwell on those years when they were estranged. My dear, "continued old Uncle Jasper. "I am glad you came with this tale to me--itwould have done your father harm. The doctors hope soon to make him muchbetter, but at present he must hear nothing likely to give rise togloomy thoughts; wait until he is better, my dear. And if you want helpfor this Mrs. Home, you must appeal to me. Promise me that, Lottie. "

"I will promise, certainly, not to injure my father, but I confess youpuzzle me. "

"I am truly sorry, my dear. I will think over your tale, but now I mustgo to John. Will you come with me?"

"No, thanks; I would rather stay here. "

"Then we shall not meet again, for in an hour I am off to my club. Good-night, my dear. "

And Charlotte could not help noticing how soft and catlike were thefootsteps of the old Australian uncle as he stole away. 

CHAPTER X. 

JOHN AND JASPER HARMAN. 

Jaspar Harman was sixty years old at this time, but the days of hispilgrimage had passed lightly over him, neither impairing his frame norhis vigor. At sixty years of age he could think as clearly, sleep ascomfortably, eat as well--nay, even walk as far as he did thirty yearsago. His life in the Antipodes seemed to have agreed with him. It istrue his hair was turning gray, and his shrewd face had many wrinkles onit, but these seemed more the effects of climate than of years. Helooked like a man whom no heart-trouble had ever touched and in thisdoubtless lay the secret of his perpetual youth. Care might sweep himvery close, but it could not enter an unwelcome guest, to sit on thehearth of his holy of holies; into the innermost shrine of his being itcould scarcely find room to enter. His was the kind of nature to whomremorse even for a sin committed must be almost unknown. His affectionswere not his strong point. Most decidedly his intellect overbalanced hisheart. But without an undue preponderance of heart he was good-natured;he would pat a chubby little cheek, if he passed it in the street, andhe would talk in a genial and hearty way to those beneath him in life. In business matters he was considered very shrewd and hard, but thosewho had no such dealings with him pronounced him a kindly soul. Hissmile was genial; his manner frank and pleasant. He had one trick, however, which no servant could bear--his step was as soft as a cat's;he must be on your heels before you had the faintest clue to hisapproach. 

In this stealthy way he now left his niece's room, stole down thethickly carpeted stairs, crept across a tiled hall, and entered theapartment where his elder brother waited for him. 

John Harman was only one year Jasper's senior, but there looked a muchgreater difference between them. Jasper was young for his years; Johnwas old; nay, more--he was very old. In youth he must have been ahandsome man; in age for every one spoke of him as aged, he was handsomestill. He was tall, over six feet; his hair was silver-white; his eyesvery deep set, very dark. Their expression was penetrating, kind, butsad. His mouth was firm, but had some lines round it which puzzled you. His smile, which was rare and seldom seen, was a wintry one. You wouldrather John Harman did not smile at you; you felt miserable afterwards. All who knew him said instinctively that John Harman had known somegreat trouble. Most people attributed it to the death of his wife, but, as this happened twenty years ago, others shook their heads and feltpuzzled. Whatever the sorrow, however, which so perpetually clouded thefine old face, the nature of the man was so essentially noble that hewas universally loved and respected. 

John Harmon was writing a letter when his brother entered. He pushedaside his writing materials, however, and raised his head with a sigh ofrelief. In Jasper's presence there was always one element of comfort. He need cover over no anxieties; his old face looked almost sharp as hewheeled his chair round to the fire. 

"No, you are not interrupting me, " he began. "This letter can keep; itis not a business one. I never transact business at home. " Then headded, as Jasper sank into the opposite chair, "You have been having along chat with the child. I am glad she is getting fond of you. "

"She is a fine girl, " said Jasper; "a fine, generous girl. I like her, even though she does dabble in literature; and I like Hinton too. Whenare they to be married, John?"

"When Hinton gets his first brief--not before, " answered John Harman. 

"Well, well, he's a clever chap; I don't see why you should wait forthat--he's safe to get on. If I were you, I'd like to see my girlcomfortably settled. One can never tell what may happen!"

"What may happen!" repeated the elder Harman. "Do you allude now to thedoctor's verdict on myself. I did not wish Charlotte acquainted withit. "

"Pooh! my dear fellow, there's nothing to alarm our girl in thatquarter. I'd lay my own life you have many long years before you. No, Charlotte knows you are not well, and that is all she need ever know. Iwas not alluding to your health, but to the fact that that fine youngwoman upstairs is, just to use a vulgar phrase, eating her own head offfor want of something better to do. She is dabbling in print. Of course, her book must fail. She is full of all kinds of chimerical expedients. Why, this very evening she was propounding the most preposterous schemeto me, as generous as it was nonsensical. No, no, my dear fellow, evento you I won't betray confidence. The girl is an enthusiast. Nowenthusiasts are always morbid and unhappy unless they can find vent fortheir energies. Why don't you give her the natural and healthy ventssupplied by wifehood and motherhood? Why do you wait for Hinton's firstbrief to make them happy? You have money enough to make them happy atonce. "

"Yes, yes, Jasper--it is not that. It is just that I want the young mannot to be altogether dependent on his wife. I am fonder of Hinton thanof any other creature in the world except my own child. For his sake Iask for his short delay to their marriage. On the day he brings me newsof that brief I take the first steps to settle on Charlotte a thousanda year during my lifetime. I make arrangements that her eldest soninherits the business, and I make further provision for any otherchildren she may have. "

"Well, my dear fellow, all that sounds very nice; and if Hinton was notquite the man he is I should say, 'Wait for the brief. ' But I believethat having a wife will only make him seek that said brief all theharder. I see success before that future son-in-law of yours. "

"And you are a shrewd observer of character, Jasper, " answered hisbrother. 

Neither of the men spoke for some time after this, and presently Jasperrose to go. He had all but reached the door when he turned back. 

"You will be in good time in the city to-morrow, John. "

"Yes, of course. Not that there is anything very special going on. Whydo you ask?"

"Only that we must give an answer to that question of the trusteeship tothe Rutherford orphans. I know you object to the charge, still it seemsa pity for the sake of a sentiment. "

Instantly John Harman, who had been crouching over the fire, rose to hisfull height. His deep-set eyes flashed, his voice trembled with somehardly suppressed anguish. 

"Jasper!" he said suddenly and sharply; then he added, "you have but oneanswer to that question from me--never, never, as long as I live, shallour firm become trustees for even sixpence worth. You know my feelingson that point, Jasper, and they shall never change. "

"You are a fool for your pains, then, " muttered Jasper, but he closedthe door rather hastily behind him. 

CHAPTER XI. 

"A PET DAY. "

At breakfast the next morning Charlotte Harman was in almost wildspirits. Her movements were generally rather sedate, as befitted one sotall, so finely proportioned, so dignified. To-day her step seemed setto some hidden rhythmic measure; her eyes laughed; her gracious, kindlymouth was wreathed in perpetual smiles. Her father, on the contrary, looked more bent, more careworn, more aged even than usual. Looking, however, into her eyes for light, his own brightened. As he ate hisfrugal breakfast of coffee and dry toast he spoke:

"Charlotte, your Uncle Jasper came to me last night with a proposal onyour behalf. "

"Yes, father, " answered Charlotte. She looked up expectantly. Shethought of Mrs. Home. Her uncle had told the tale after all, and herdear and generous father would refuse her nothing. She should have thegreat joy of giving three thousand pounds to that poor mother for theuse of her little children. 

The next words, however, uttered by Mr. Harman caused these dreams to bedispelled by others more golden. The most generous woman must at timesthink first of herself. Charlotte was very generous; but her father'snext words brought dimples into very prominent play in each cheek. 

"My darling, Jasper thinks me very cruel to postpone your marriage. Iwill not postpone it. You and Hinton may fix the day. I will take thatbrief of his on trust. "

No woman likes an indefinite engagement, and Charlotte was not theexception to prove this rule. 

"Dearest father, " she said, "I am very happy at this. I will tell John. He is coming over this morning. But you know my conditions? No weddingday for me unless my father agrees to live with me afterwards. "

"Settle it as you please, dear child. I don't think there would be muchsunshine left for me if you were away from me. And now I suppose youwill be very busy. You have _carte blanche_ for the trousseau, but yourbook? will you have time to write it, Charlotte? And that young womanwhom I saw in your room yesterday, is she the amanuensis whom you toldme about?"

"She is the lady whom I hoped to have secured, father, but she is notcoming. "

"Not coming! I rather liked her look, she seemed quite a lady. Did youoffer her too small remuneration? Not that that would be your way, butyou do not perhaps know what such labor is worth. "

"It was not that, dear father. I offered her what she herself considereda very handsome sum. It was not that. She is very poor; very, very poorand she has three little children. I never saw such a hungry look in anyeyes as she had, when she spoke of what money would be to her. But shegave me a reason--a reason which I am not at liberty to tell to you, which makes it impossible for her to come here. "

Charlotte's cheeks were burning now, and something in her tone causedher father to gaze at her attentively. It was not his way, however, topress for any confidence not voluntarily offered. He rose from his seatwith a slight sigh. 

"Well, dear, " he said, "you must look for some one else. We can't talkover matters to-night. Ask Hinton to stay and dine. There; I must beoff, I am very late as it is. "

Mr. Harman kissed his daughter and she went out as usual to button onhis great-coat and see him down the street. She had performed thisoffice for him ever since--a little mite of four years old--she hadtried to take her dead mother's place. The child, the growing girl, theyoung woman, had all in turns stood on those steps, and watched thatfigure walking away. But never until to-day had she noticed how aged andbent it had grown. For the first time the possibility visited her heartthat there might be such a thing for her in the future as life withouther father. 

Uncle Jasper had said he was not well; no, he did not look well. Hereyes filled with tears as she closed the hall door and re-entered thehouse. But her own prospects were too golden just now to permit her todwell as long, or as anxiously, as she otherwise would have done, on sogloomy an aspect of her father's case. 

Charlotte Harman was twenty-five years of age; but, except when hermother died, death had never come near her young life. She couldscarcely remember her mother, and, with this one exception, death andsickness were things unknown. She has heard of them of course; but thegrim practical knowledge, the standing face to face with the foe, werenot her experience. She was the kind of woman who could develop into themost tender nurse, into the wisest, best, and most helpful guide, through those same dark roads of sickness and death, but the trainingfor this was all to come. No wonder that in her inexperience she shouldsoon cease to dwell on her father's bent figure and drawn, white face. Areaction was over her, and she must yield to it. 

As she returned to the comfortable breakfast-room, her eyes shonebrighter through their momentary tears. She went over and stood by thehearth. She was a most industrious creature, having trained herself notto waste an instant; but to-day she must indulge in a happy reverie. 

How dark had been those few hours after Mrs. Home had left heryesterday; how undefined, how dim, and yet how dark had been hersuspicions! She did not know what to think, or whom to suspect; but shefelt that, cost her what it might, she must fathom the truth, and thathaving once fathomed it, something might be revealed to her that wouldembitter and darken her whole life. 

And behold! she had done so. She had bravely grasped the phantom in bothhands, and it had vanished into thin air. What she dreamed was not. There was no disgrace anywhere. A morbid young woman had conjured up apossible tale of wrong. There was no wrong. She, Mrs. Home, was to bepitied, and Charlotte would help her; but beyond this no dark or evilthing had come into her life. 

And now, what a great further good was in store for her! Her father hadmost unexpectedly withdrawn his opposition over the slight delay he hadinsisted upon to her marriage. Charlotte did not know until now how shehad chafed at this delay; how she had longed to be the wife of the manshe loved. She said, "Thank God!" under her breath, then ran upstairs toher own room. 

Charlotte's maid had the special care of this room. It was a sunshinymorning, and the warm spring air came in through the open window. 

"Yes, leave it open, " she said to the girl; "it seems as if spring hadreally come to-day. "

"But it is winter still, madam, February is not yet over, " replied thelady's maid. "Better let me shut it, Miss Harman, this is only a petday. "

"I will enjoy it then, Ward, " answered Miss Harman. "And now leave me, for I am very busy. "

The maid withdrew, and Charlotte seated herself by her writing table. She was engaged over a novel which Messrs. M----, of ---- Street, hadpronounced really good; they would purchase the copyright, and theywanted the MS. By a given date. How eager she had felt about thisyesterday; how determined not to let anything interfere with itscompletion! But to-day, she took up her pen as usual, read over the lastpage she had written, then sat quiet, waiting for inspiration. 

What was the matter with her? No thought came. As a rule thoughts flowedfreely, proceeding fast from the brain to the pen, from the pen to thepaper. But to-day? What ailed her to-day? The fact was, the most naturalthing in the world had come to stop the flow of fiction. It was put outby a greater fire. The moon could shine brilliantly at night, but howsombre it looked beside the sun! The great sunshine of her own personaljoy was flooding Charlotte's heart to-day, and the griefs and delightsof the most attractive heroine in the world must sink intoinsignificance beside it. She sat waiting for about a quarter of anhour, then threw down her pen in disgust. She pulled out her watch. Hinton could not be with her before the afternoon. The morning wasglorious. What had Ward, her maid, called the day?--"a pet day. " Well, she would enjoy it; she would go out. She ran to her room, envelopedherself in some rich and becoming furs, and went into the street. Shewalked on a little way, rather undecided where to turn her steps. In aninstant she could have found herself in Kensington Gardens or Hyde Park;but, just because they were so easy of access, they proved unattractive. She must wander farther afield. She beckoned to a passing hansom. 

"I want to go somewhere where I shall have green grass and trees, " shesaid to the cabby. "No, it must not be Hyde Park, somewhere fartheroff. "

"There's the Regent's, " replied the man. "I'll drive yer there and backwid pleasure, my lady. "

"I will go to Regent's Park, " said Charlotte. She made up her mind, asshe was swiftly bowled along, that she would walk back. She was just inthat condition of suppressed excitement, when a walk would be the mostdelightful safety-valve in the world. 

In half an hour she found herself in Regent's Park and, having dismissedher cab, wandered about amongst the trees. The whole place was floodedwith sunshine. There were no flowers visible; the season had been toobad, and the year was yet too young; but for all that, nature seemed tobe awake and listening. 

Charlotte walked about until she felt tired, then she sat down on one ofthe many seats to rest until it was time to return home. Children wererunning about everywhere. Charlotte loved children. Many an afternoonhad she gone into Kensington Gardens for the mere and sole purpose ofwatching them. Here were children, too, as many as there, but of adifferent class. Not quite so aristocratic, not quite so exclusivelybelonging to the world of rank and fashion. The children in Regent'sPark were certainly quite as well dressed; but there was just somelittle indescribable thing missing in them, which the little creatures, whom Charlotte Harman was most accustomed to notice, possessed. 

She was commenting on this, in that vague and slight way one does whenall their deepest thoughts are elsewhere, when a man came near andshared her seat. He was a tall man, very slight, very thin. Charlotte, just glancing at him took in this much also, that he was a clergyman. Hesat down to rest, evidently doing so from great fatigue. Selfish in herhappiness, Charlotte presently returned to her golden dreams. Thechildren came on fast, group after group; some pale and thin, some rosyand healthy; a few scantily clothed, a few overladen with finery. Theylaughed and scampered past her. For, be the circumstances what theymight, all the little hearts seemed full of mirth and sweet content. Atlast a very small nurse appeared, wheeling a perambulator, while twochildren ran by her side. These children were dressed neatly, but withno attempt at fashion. The baby in the shabby perambulator was verybeautiful. The little group were walking past rather more slowly thanmost of the other groups, for the older boy and girl looked decidedlytired, when suddenly they all stopped; the servant girl opened her mouthuntil it remained fixed in the form of a round O; the baby raised itsarms and crowed; the elder boy and girl uttered a glad shout and ranforward. 

"Father, father, you here?" said the boy. "You here?" echoed the girl, and the whole cavalcade drew up in front of Charlotte and the thinclergyman. The boy in an instant was on his father's knee, and the girl, helping herself mightily by Charlotte's dress, had got on the bench. 

The baby seeing this began to cry. The small nurse seemed incapable ofaction, and Charlotte herself had to come to the rescue. She lifted thelittle seven months old creature out of its carriage, and placed it inits father's arms. 

He raised his eyes gratefully to her face and placed his arm round thebaby. 

"Oh! I'm falling, " said the girl. "This seat is so slippy, may I sit onyour knee?"

It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Charlotte to take thisstrange, shabbily dressed little girl into her embrace. 

The child began to stroke down and admire her soft furs. 

"Aren't they lovely?" she said. "Oh, Harold, look! Feel 'em, Harold;they're like pussies. "

Harold, absorbed with his father, turned his full blue eyes roundgravely and fixed them not on the furs, but on the strange lady's face. 

"Father, " he said in a slow, solemn tone, "may I kiss that pretty lady?"

"My dear boy, no, no. I am ashamed of you. Now run away, children; go onwith your walk. Nurse, take baby. "

The children were evidently accustomed to implicit obedience. They wentwithout a word. 

"But I will kiss Harold first, " said Charlotte Harman, and she stoopeddown and pressed her lips to the soft round cheek. 

"Thank you, " said the clergyman. Again he looked into her face andsmiled. 

The smile on his careworn face reminded Charlotte of the smile on St. Stephen's face, when he was dying. It was unearthly, angelic; but it wasalso very fleeting. Presently he added in a grave tone, ----

"You have evidently the great gift of attracting the heart of a littlechild. Pardon me if I add a hope that you may never lose it. "

"Is that possible?" asked Charlotte. 

"Yes; when you lose the child spirit, the power will go. "

"Oh! then I hope it never will, " she replied. 

"It never will if you keep the Christ bright within you, " he answered. Then he raised his hat to her, smiled again, and walked away. 

He was a strange man, and Charlotte felt attracted as well as repelled. She was proud, and at another time and from other lips such words wouldhave been received with disdain. But this queer, shadowy-lookingclergyman looked like an unearthly visitant. She watched his rather weakfootsteps, as he walked quietly away in the northern direction throughthe park. Then she got up and prepared to return home. But this littleincident had sobered her. She was not unhappy; but she now felt verygrave. The child spirit! She must keep it alive, and the Christ mustdwell bright within her. 

Charlotte's temperament was naturally religious. Her nature was so frankand noble that she could not but drink in the good as readily as theflower receives the dew; but she had come to this present fulness of heryouthful vigor without one trial being sent to test the gold. Sheentered the house after her long walk to find Hinton waiting for her. 

CHAPTER XII. 

FOUR MONTHS HENCE. 

Hinton had gone away the day before rather disturbed by Charlotte'smanner. He had found her, for the first time since their betrothal, introuble. Wishing to comfort, she had repelled him. He was a strong man, as strong in his own way as Charlotte was in hers, and this power ofstanding alone scarcely pleased him in her. His was the kind of naturewhich would be supposed to take for its other half one soft andclinging. Contrary to the established rule, however, he had won thisproud and stately Charlotte. She thought him perfection: he was anythingbut that. But he had good points, there was nothing mean or base abouthim. There were no secrets hidden away in his life. His was an honorableand manly nature. But he had one little fault, running like a cankerthrough the otherwise healthy fruit of his heart. While Charlotte wasfrank and open as the day, he was reserved; not only reserved, butsuspicious. All the men who knew Hinton said what a capital lawyer hewould make; he had all the qualities necessary to insure success in hisprofession. Above all things in the world secrets oppressed, irritated, and yet interested him. Once having heard of any little possiblemystery, he could not rest until it was solved. 

This had been his character from a boy. His own brothers and sisters hadconfided in him, not because they found him particularly sympathetic, orparticularly clever, not because they loved him so much, but simplybecause they could not help themselves. John would have found out allthe small childish matter without their aid; it was better, safer totake him into confidence. Then, to do him justice, he was true as steel;for though he must discover, he would scorn to betray. 

On the white, untroubled sheet of Charlotte Harmon's heart no secretsyet had been written. Consequently, though she had been engaged for manymonths to John Hinton, she had never found out this peculiarity abouthim. Those qualities of openness and frankness, so impossible to his ownnature, had attracted him most of all to this beautiful young woman. Never until yesterday had there been breath or thought of concealmentabout her. But then--then he had found her in trouble. Full of sympathyhe had drawn near to comfort, and she had repelled him. She had heard ofsomething which troubled her, which troubled her to such an extent thatthe very expression of her bright face had changed, and yet thissomething was to be a secret from him--true, only until the followingday, but a whole twenty-four hours seemed like for ever to Hinton in hisimpatience. Before he could even expostulate with her she had run off, doubtless to confide her care to another. Perhaps the best way toexpress John Hinton's feelings would be to say that he was very cross ashe returned to his chambers in Lincoln's Inn. 

All that evening, through his dreams all that night, all the followingmorning as he tried to engage himself over his law books, he pondered onCharlotte's secret. Such pondering must in a nature like his exciteapprehension. He arrived on the next day at the house in Prince's Gatewith his mind full of gloomy forebodings. His face was so grave that itscarcely cleared up at the sight of the bright one raised to meet it. Hewas full of the secret of yesterday; Charlotte, in all the joy of thesecret of to-day, had already forgotten it. 

"Oh, I have had such a walk!" she exclaimed; "and a little bit of anadventure--a pretty adventure; and now I am starving. Come into thedining-room and have some lunch. "

"You look very well, " answered her lover, "and I left you so miserableyesterday!"

"Yesterday!" repeated Charlotte; she had forgotten yesterday. "Oh, yes, I had heard something very disagreeable: but when I looked into thematter, it turned out to be nothing. "

"You will tell me all about it, dear?"

"Well, I don't know, John. I would of course if there was anything totell; but do come and have some lunch, I cannot even mention somethingelse much more important until I have had some lunch. "

John Hinton frowned. Even that allusion to something much more importantdid not satisfy him. He must know this other thing. What! spendtwenty-four hours of misery, and not learn what it was all about in theend! Charlotte's happiness, however, could not but prove infectious, andthe two made merry over their meal, and not until they found themselvesin Charlotte's own special sanctum did Hinton resume his grave manner. Then he began at once. 

"Now, Charlotte, you will tell me why you looked so grave and scaredyesterday. I have been miserable enough thinking of it ever since. Idon't understand why you did not confide in me at once. "

"Dear John, " she said--she saw now that he had been really hurt--"Iwould not give you pain for worlds, my dearest. Yes, I was muchperplexed, I was even very unhappy for the time. A horrid doubt had beenput into my head, but it turned out nothing, nothing whatever. Let usforget it, dear John; I have something much more important to tell you. "

"Yes, afterwards, but you will tell me this, even though it did turn outof no consequence. "

"Please, John dear, I would rather not. I was assailed by a mostunworthy suspicion. It turned out nothing, nothing at all. I wouldrather, seeing it was all a myth, you never knew of it. "

"And I would rather know, Charlotte; the myth shall be dismissed frommind, too, but I would rather be in your full confidence. "

"My full confidence?" she repeated; the expression pained her. Shelooked hard at Hinton; his words were very quietly spoken, but there wasa cloud on his brow. "You shall certainly have my full confidence, " shesaid after that brief pause; "which will you hear first, what gave mepain yesterday, or what brings me joy to-day?"

"What gave you pain yesterday. "

There is no doubt she had hoped he would have made the latter choice, but seeing he did not she submitted at once, sitting, not as was herwont close to his side, but on a chair opposite. Hinton sat with hisback to the light, but it fell full on Charlotte, and he could see everyline of her innocent and noble face as she told her tale. Having got totell it, she did so in few but simple words; Mrs. Home's story coming ofa necessity first, her Uncle Jasper's explanation last. When the wholetale was told, she paused, then said, --

"You see there was nothing in it. "

"I see, " answered Hinton. This was his first remark. He had notinterrupted the progress of the narrative by a single observation; thenhe added, "But I think, if even your father does not feel disposed tohelp her, that we, you and I, Charlotte, ought to do something for Mrs. Home. "

"Oh, John dear, how you delight me! How good and noble you are! Yes, myheart aches for that poor mother; yes, we will help her. You and I, howvery delightful it will be!"

Now she came close to her lover and kissed him, and he returned herembrace. 

"You will never have a secret again from me, my darling?" he said. 

"I never, never had one, " she answered, for it was impossible for her tounderstand that this brief delay in her confidence could be considered asecret. "Now for my other news, " she said. 

"Now for your other news, " he repeated. 

"John, what is the thing you desire most in the world?"

Of course this young man being sincerely attached to this young woman, answered, --

"You, Charlotte. "

"John, you always said you did not like Uncle Jasper, but see what agood turn he has done us--he has persuaded my father to allow us tomarry at once. "

"What, without my brief?"

"Yes, without your brief; my dear father told me this morning that wemay fix the day whenever we like. He says he will stand in the way nolonger. He is quite sure of that brief, we need not wait to be happy forit, we may fix our wedding-day, John, and you are to dine here thisevening and have a talk with my father afterwards. "

Hinton's face had grown red. He was a lover, and an attached one; but sodiverse were the feelings stirred within him, that for the moment hefelt more excited than elated. 

"Your father is very good, " he said, "he gives us leave to fix the day. Very well, that is your province, my Lottie; when shall it be?"

"This is the twentieth of February, our wedding-day shall be on thetwentieth of June, " she replied. 

"That is four months hence, " he said. In spite of himself there was asound of relief in his tone. "Very well, Charlotte; yes, I will come anddine this evening. But now I am late for an appointment; we will have along talk after dinner. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

HIS FIRST BRIEF. 

Hinton, when he left Charlotte, went straight back to his chambers. Hehad no particular work to hurry him there; indeed, when he left thatmorning he had done so with the full intention of spending the entireafternoon with his betrothed. He was, as has been said, although aclever, yet certainly at present a briefless young barrister. Nevertheless, had twenty briefs awaited his immediate attention, hecould not have more rapidly hurried back as he now did. When he enteredhis rooms he locked the outer door. Then he threw himself on a chair, drew the chair to his writing table, pushed his hands through his thickhair, and staring hard at a blank sheet of paper which lay before himbegan to think out a problem. His might scarcely have been called apassionate nature, but it was one capable of a very deep, very realattachment. This attachment had been formed for Charlotte Harman. Theirengagement had already lasted nearly a year, and now with her own lipsshe had told him that it might end, that the end, the one happy end toall engagements, was in sight. With comfort, nay, with affluence, withthe full consent of all her friends, they might become man and wife. John Hinton most undoubtedly loved this woman, and yet now as hereviewed the whole position the one pleasure he could deduct for his ownreflection was in the fact that there was four months' reprieve. Charlotte had herself postponed their wedding-day for four months. 

Hinton was a proud man. When, a year ago, he had gone to Mr. Harman andasked him for his daughter, Mr. Harman had responded with the verynatural question, "What means have you to support her with?"

Hinton had answered that he had two hundred a year--and--his profession. 

"What are you making in your profession?" asked the father. 

"Not anything--yet, " answered the young man. 

There was a tone of defiance and withal of hope thrown into that "yet"which might have repelled some men, but pleased Mr. Harman. He paused toconsider. He might have got a much, much better match for Charlotte froma temporal standpoint. Hinton was of no family in particular; he had nomoney worthy of the name. He was simply an honest fellow, fairlygood-looking, and with the heart of a gentleman. 

"You are doubtless aware, " replied Mr. Harman, "that my daughter willinherit a very large fortune. She has been sought for in marriage beforenow, and by men who could give something to meet what she brings, bothwith regard to money and position. "

"I have heard of Mr. S. 's proposal, " answered Hinton. "I know he isrich, and the son of Lord ----; but that is nothing, for she does notlove him. "

"And you believe she loves you?"

"Most certainly she loves me. "

In spite of himself Mr. Harman smiled, then after a little more thought, for he was much taken with Hinton, he came to terms. 

He must not have Charlotte while he had nothing to support her with. Pooh! that two hundred a year was nothing to a girl brought up like hisdaughter. For Hinton's own sake it would not be good for him to live onhis wife's money; but when he obtained his first brief then they mightmarry. 

Hinton was profuse in thanks. He only made on his part onestipulation--that brief, which was to obtain for him his bride, was inno way to come to him through Mr. Harman's influence. He must win it byhis own individual exertion. 

Mr Harman smiled and grew a trifle red. In his business capacity hecould have put twenty briefs in this young fellow's way, and in hisinmost heart he had resolved to do so; but he liked him all the betterfor this one proviso, and promised readily enough. 

Hinton had no business connections of his own. He had no influentialpersonal friends, and his future father-in-law felt bound in honor toleave him altogether to his own resources. A year had nearly passedsince the engagement, and the brief which was to win him Charlotte wasas far away as ever. But now she told him that this one embargo to theirhappiness had been withdrawn. They might marry, and the brief wouldfollow after. Hinton knew well what it all meant. The rich citymerchant could then put work in his way. Work would quickly pour in tothe man so closely connected with rich John Harman. Yes. As he sat byhis table in his small shabbily furnished room, he knew that his fortunewas made. He would obtain Charlotte and Charlotte's wealth; and if hebut chose to use his golden opportunities, fame too might be hisportion. He was a keen and ardent politician, and a seat in the Housemight easily follow all the other good things which seemed following inhis track. Yes; but he was a proud man, and he did not like it. He hadnot the heart to tell Charlotte to-day, as she looked at him with allthe love she had so freely given shining in her sweet and tender face, that he would not accept such terms, that the original bargain must yetabide in force. He could not say to this young woman when she came tohim, "I do not want you. " But none the less, as he now sat by hiswriting-table, was he resolved that unless his brief was won before thetwentieth of June it should bring no wedding-day to him. This was why herejoiced in the four months' reprieve. But this was by no means his onlyperplexity. Had it been, so stung to renewed action was his sense ofpride and independence, that he would have gone at once to seek, perhapsto obtain work; but something else was lying like wormwood against hisheart. That story of Mrs. Home's! That explanation of Jasper Harman's!The story was a queer one; the explanation, while satisfying theinexperienced girl, failed to meet the requirements of the acute lawyer. Hinton saw flaws in Jasper's narrative, where Charlotte saw none. Theone great talent of his life, if it could be called a talent, was comingfiercely into play as he sat now and thought about it all. He hadpre-eminently the gift of discovering secrets. He was rooting up manythings from the deep grave of the hidden past now. That look of care onMr. Harman's face, how often it had puzzled him! He had never likedJasper; indefinite had been his antipathy hitherto, but it was takingdefinite form now. There _was_ a secret in the past of that mostrespectable firm, and he, John Hinton, would give himself no rest untilhe had laid it bare. No wedding-day could come to him and Charlotteuntil his mind was at rest on this point. It was against his interest toferret out this hidden thing, but that fact weighed as nothing with him. It would bring pain to the woman he loved; it might ruin her father; butthe pain and the ruin would be inflicted unsparingly by his righteousyoung hand, which knew nothing yet of mercy but was all for justice, andjustice untempered with mercy is a terrible weapon. This Hinton was yetto learn. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

LODGINGS IN KENTISH TOWN. 

After a time, restless from the complexity of his musings, Hinton wentout. He had promised to return to the Harmans for dinner, but their hourfor dinner was eight o'clock, and it still wanted nearly three hours ofthat time. As Charlotte had done before that day, he found himself inthe close neighborhood of Regent's Park. He would have gone into thepark, but that he knew that the hour of closing the gates at this earlyperiod of the year must be close at hand; he walked, therefore, by theside of the park, rather aimlessly it is true, not greatly caring, provided he kept moving, in what direction his footsteps took him. 

At last he found himself on the broad tram line which leads to thesuburb of Kentish Town. It was by no means an interesting neighborhood. But Hinton, soon lost in his private and anxious musings, went on. Atlast he left the public thoroughfare and turned down a private road. There were no shops here, nor much traffic. He felt a sense of relief atleaving the roar and bustle behind him. This road on which he had nowentered was flanked at each side by a small class of dwelling-houses, some shabby and dirty, some bright and neat; all, however, werepoor-looking. It was quite dusk by this time, and the gas had beenalready lit. This fact, perhaps, was the reason which drew Hinton'smuch-preoccupied attention to a trivial circumstance. 

In one of these small houses a young woman, who had previously lit thegas, stepped to the window and proceeded to paste a card to the pane. There was a gas lamp also directly underneath, and Hinton, raising hiseyes, saw very distinctly, not only the little act, but also the wordson the card. They were the very common words----

 APARTMENTS TO LET

 INQUIRE WITHIN. 

Hinton suddenly drew up short on the pavement. He did not live in hischambers, and it occurred to him that here he would be within a walk ofRegent's Park. In short, that these shabby-looking little lodgings mightsuit him for the next few uncertain months. As suddenly as he hadstopped, and the thought had come to him, he ran up the steps and rangthe bell. In a moment or two a little servant-maid opened the door. Shewas neither a clean nor a tidy-looking maid, and Hinton, fastidious onsuch matters, took in this fact at a glance. Nevertheless the desire tofind for himself a habitation in this shabby little house did not leavehim. 

"I saw a card up in your window. You have rooms to let, " he said to thelittle maid. 

"Oh, yes, indeed, please, sir, " answered the servant with a broad anddelighted grin. "'Tis h'our drawing-rooms, please, sir; and ef you'llplease jest come inter the 'all I'll run and tell missis. "

Hinton did so; and in another moment the maid, returning, asked him tostep this way. 

This way led him into a dingy little parlor, and face to face with ayoung woman who, pale, self-possessed, and ladylike, rose to meet him. Hinton felt the color rising to his face at sight of her. He alsoexperienced a curious and sudden constriction of his heart, and anoverawed sense of some special Providence leading him here. For he hadseen this young woman before. She was Charlotte Home. In his swiftglance, however, he saw that she did not recognize him. His resolve wastaken on the instant. However uncomfortable the rooms she had to offer, they should be his. His interest in this Mrs. Home became intensified toa degree that was painful. He knew that he was about to pursue a coursewhich would be to his own detriment, but he felt it impossible now toturn aside. In a quiet voice, and utterly unconscious of this tumult inhis breast, she asked him to be seated, and they began to discuss theaccommodation she could offer. 

Her back and front drawing-rooms would be vacant in a week. Yes, certainly; Mr. Hinton could see them. She rang the bell as she spoke, and the maid appearing, took Hinton up stairs. The rooms were evensmaller and shabbier than he had believed possible. Nevertheless, whenhe came downstairs he found no fault with anything, and agreed to theterms asked, namely, one guinea a week. He noticed a tremor in theyoung, brave voice which asked for this remuneration, and he longed tomake the one guinea two, but this was impossible. Before he left he hadtaken Mrs. Home's drawing-rooms for a month, and had arranged to comeinto possession of his new quarters that day week. 

Looking at his watch when he left the house, he found that time had gonefaster than he had any idea of. He had now barely an hour to jump into acab, go to his present most comfortable lodgings, change his morningdress, and reach the Harmans in time for eight o'clock dinner. Littlemore than these sixty minutes elapsed from the time he left the shabbyhouse in Kentish Town before he found himself in the luxurious abode ofwealth, and every refinement, in Prince's Gate. He ran up to thedrawing-room, to find Charlotte waiting for him alone. 

"Uncle Jasper will dine with us, John, " she said, "but my father is notwell. "

"Not well!" echoed Hinton. Her face only expressed slight concern, andhis reflected it in a lesser degree. 

"He is very tired, " she said, "and he looks badly. But I hope there isnot much the matter. He will see you after dinner. But he could not eat, so I have begged of him to lie down; he will be all right after a littlerest. "

Hinton made no further remark, and Uncle Jasper then coming in, anddinner being announced, they all went downstairs. 

Uncle Jasper and Charlotte were merry enough, but Hinton could not getover a sense of depression, which not even the presence of the woman heloved could disperse. He was not sorry when the message came for him togo to Mr. Harman. Charlotte smiled as he rose. 

"You will find me in the drawing-room whenever you like to come there, "she said to him. 

He left the room suppressing the sigh. Charlotte, however, did not hearor notice it. Still, with that light of love and happiness crowning herbright face, she turned to the old Australian uncle. 

"I will pour you out your next glass of port, and stay with you for afew moments, for I have something to tell you. "

"What is that, my dear?" asked the old man. 

"Something you have had to do with, dear old uncle. My wedding-day isfixed. "

Uncle Jasper chuckled. 

"Ah! my dear, " he said, "there's nothing like having the day clear inone's head. And when is it to be, my pretty lass?"

"The twentieth of June, Uncle Jasper. Just four months from to-day. "

"Four months off!" repeated Uncle Jasper. "Well, I don't call that veryclose at hand. When I spoke to your father last night--for you know Idid speak to him, Charlotte--he seemed quite inclined to put no obstaclein the way of your speedy marriage. "

"Nor did he, Uncle Jasper. You don't understand. He said we might marryat once if we liked. It was I who said the twentieth of June. "

"You, child!--and--and did Hinton, knowing your father had withdrawn allopposition, did Hinton allow you to put off his happiness for four wholemonths?"

"It was my own choice, " said Charlotte. "Four months do not seem to metoo long to prepare. "

"They would seem a very long time to me if I were the man who was tomarry you, my dear. "

Charlotte looked grave at this. Her uncle seemed to impute blame to herlover. Being absolutely certain of his devotion, she scorned to defendit. She rose from the table. 

"You will find me in the drawing-room, Uncle Jasper. "

"One word, Charlotte, before you go, " said her uncle. "No, child, I amnot going to the drawing-room. You two lovers may have it to yourselves. But--but--you remember our talk of last night?"

"Yes, " answered Charlotte, pausing, and coming back a little way intothe room. "Did you say anything to my father? Will he help Mrs. Home?"

"I have no doubt he will, my dear. Your father and I will both dosomething. He is a very just man, is your father. He was a good dealupset by this reference to his early days, and to his quarrel with hisown father. I believe, between you and me, that it was that which madehim ill this evening. But, Charlotte, you leave Mrs. Home to us. I willmention her case again when your father is more fit to bear the subject. What I wanted to say now, my dear, is this, that I think it would bestplease the dear old man if--if you told nothing of this strange tale, not even to Hinton, my dear. "

"Why, Uncle Jasper?"

"Why, my dear child? The reason seems to me obvious enough. It is astory of the past. It relates to an old and painful quarrel. It is allover years ago. And then you could not tell one side of the tale withoutthe other. Mrs. Home, poor thing, not personally knowing your father asone of the best and noblest of men, imputes very grave blame to him. Don't you think such a tale, so false, so wrong, had better be buried inoblivion?"

"Mrs. Home was most unjust in her ignorance, " repeated Charlotte. "But, uncle, you are too late in your warning, for I told John the whole storyalready to-day. "

Not a muscle of Uncle Jasper's face changed. 

"Well, child, I should have said that to you last night. After all, itis natural. Hinton won't let it go farther, and no harm is done. "

"Certainly, John does not speak of my most sacred things, " answeredCharlotte proudly. 

"No, no, of course he doesn't. I am sorry you told him; but as you say, he is one with yourself. No harm is done. No, thank you, my dear, nomore wine now. I am going off to my club. "

CHAPTER XV. 

MR. HARMAN'S CONFIDENCE. 

All through dinner, Hinton had felt that strange sense of depressionstealing upon him. He was a man capable of putting a very greatrestraint upon his feelings, and he so behaved during the long and wearymeal as to rouse no suspicions, either in Charlotte's breast or in thefar sharper one of the Australian uncle. But, nevertheless, sodistressing was the growing sense of coming calamity, that he felt thegay laugh of his betrothed almost distressing, and was truly relievedwhen he had to change it for the gravity of her father. As he went fromthe dining-room to Mr. Harman's study, he reflected with pleasure thathis future father-in-law was always grave, that never in all the monthsof their rather frequent intercourse had he seen him even once indulgein what could be called real gayety of heart. Though this fact rathercoupled with his own suspicions, still he felt a momentary relief inhaving to deal to-night with one who treated life from its sombrestandpoint. 

He entered the comfortable study. Mr. Harman was sunk down in anarmchair, a cup of untasted coffee stood by his side; the moment heheard Hinton's step, however, he rose and going forward, took the youngman's hand and wrung it warmly. 

The room was lit by candles, but there were plenty of them, and Hintonalmost started when he perceived how ill the old man looked. 

"Charlotte has told you what I want you for to-night, eh, Hinton?" saidMr. Harman. 

"Yes; Charlotte has told me, " answered John Hinton. Then he sat downopposite his future father-in-law, who had resumed his armchair by thefire. Standing up, Mr. Harman looked ill, but sunk into his chair, withhis bent, white head, and drawn, anxious face, and hands worn toemaciation, he looked twenty times worse. There seemed nearly a lifetimebetween him and that blithe-looking Jasper, whom Hinton had left withCharlotte in the dining-room. Mr. Harman, sitting by his fire, withfirelight and candlelight shining full upon him, looked a very old manindeed. 

"I am sorry to see you so unwell, sir. You certainly don't look at allthe thing, " began Hinton. 

"I am not well--not at all well. I don't want Charlotte to know. Butthere need be no disguises between you and me; of course I show it; butwe will come to that presently. First, about your own affairs. Lottiehas told you what I want you for to-night?"

"She has, Mr. Harman. She says that you have been good and generousenough to say you will take away the one slight embargo you made to ourmarriage--that we may become man and wife before I bring you news ofthat brief. "

"Yes, Hinton: that is what I said to her this morning: I repeat the sameto you to-night. You may fix your wedding-day when you like--I dare sayyou have fixed it. "

"Charlotte has named the twentieth of next June, sir; but----"

"The twentieth of June! that is four months away. I did not want her toput it off as far as that. However, women, even the most sensible, havesuch an idea of the time it takes to get a trousseau. The twentieth ofJune! You can make it sooner, can't you?"

"Four months is not such a long time, sir. We have a house to get, andfurniture to buy. Four months will be necessary to make thesearrangements. "

"No, they won't; for you have no such arrangements to make. You are tocome and live here when you marry. This will be your house when youmarry, and I shall be your guest. I can give you Charlotte Hinton; but Icannot do without her myself. "

"But this house means a very, very large income, Mr. Harman. Is itprudent that we should begin like this? For my part I should much ratherdo on less. "

"You may sell the house if you fancy, and take a smaller one; or go moreinto the country. I only make one proviso--that while I live, I livewith my only daughter. "

"And with your son, too, Mr. Harman, " said Hinton, just letting his handtouch for an instant the wrinkled hand which lay on Mr. Harman's knee. 

The old man smiled one of those queer, sad smiles which Hinton had oftenin vain tried to fathom. Responding to the touch of the vigorous younghand, he said--

"I have always liked you, Hinton. I believe, in giving you my dearchild, I give her to one who will make her happy. "

"Happy! yes, I shall certainly try to make her happy, " answered Hinton, with a sparkle in his eyes. 

"And that is the main thing; better than wealth, or position, oranything else on God's earth. Happiness comes with goodness, you know, my dear fellow; no bad man was ever happy. If you and Charlotte get thisprecious thing into your lives you must both be good. Don't let the eviltouch you ever so slightly. If you do, happiness flies. "

"I quite believe you, " answered Hinton. 

"Well, about money matters. I am, as you know, very rich. I shall settleplenty of means upon my daughter; but it will be better for you to enterinto all these matters with my solicitor. When can you meet him?"

"Whenever convenient to you and to him, sir. "

"I will arrange it for you, and let you know. "

"Mr. Harman, may I say a word for myself?" suddenly asked the young man. 

"Most certainly. Have I been so garrulous as to keep you from speaking?"

"Not at all, sir; you have been more than generous. You have beenshowing me the rose-color from your point of view. Now it is not allrose-color. "

"I was coming to that; it is by no means all rose-color. Well, say yoursay first. "

"You are a very rich man, and you are giving me your daughter; soendowing her, that any man in the world would say I had drawn a prize inmoney, if in nothing else. "

Mr. Harman smiled. 

"I fear you must bear that, " he said. "I do not see that you can supportCharlotte without some assistance from me. "

"I certainly could not do so. I have exactly two hundred a year, andthat, as you were pleased to observed before, would be, to one broughtup as Charlotte has been, little short of beggary. "

"To Charlotte it certainly would be almost beggary. "

"Mr. Harman, I have some pride in me. I am a barrister by profession. Some barristers get high in their profession. "

"Undoubtedly _some_ do. "

"Those who are brilliant do, " continued Hinton. "I have abilities, whether they are brilliant or not, time will show. Mr. Harman, I shouldlike to bring you news of that brief before we are married. "

"I can throw you in the way of getting plenty of briefs when you are myson-in-law. I promise you, you will no longer be a barrister withnothing to do. "

"Yes, sir; but I want this before my marriage. "

"My influence can give it to you before. "

"But that was against our agreement, Mr. Harman. I want to find thatbrief which is to do so much for me without your help. "

"Very well. Find it before the twentieth of June. "

After this the two men were silent for several moments. John Hinton, though in no measure comforted, felt it impossible to say more justthen, and Mr. Harman, with a face full of care, kept gazing into thefire. John Hinton might have watched that face with interest, had he notbeen otherwise occupied. After this short silence Mr. Harman spokeagain. 

"You think me very unselfish in all this; perhaps even my conductsurprises you. "

"I confess it rather does, " answered Hinton. 

"Will you oblige me by saying how?"

"For one thing, you give so much and expect so little. "

"Ay, so it appears at first sight; but I told you it was not allrose-color; I am coming to that part. Your pride has been roused--I cansoothe it. "

"I love Charlotte too much to feel any pride in the matter, " repliedHinton, with some heat. 

"I don't doubt your affection, my good fellow; and I put against it anequal amount on Charlotte's part; also a noble and beautiful woman, andplenty of money, with money's attendant mercies. I fear even youraffection is outweighed in that balance. "

"Nothing can outweigh affection, " replied Hinton boldly. 

Mr. Harman smiled, and this time stretching out his own hand he touchedthe young man's. 

"You are right, my dear boy; and because I am so well aware of this, Igive my one girl to a man who is a gentleman, and who loves her. I askfor nothing else in Charlotte's husband, but I am anxious for you to beher husband at once. "

"And that is what puzzles me, " said Hinton: "you have a sudden reasonfor this hurry. We are both young; we can wait; there is no hardship inwaiting. "

"There would be a hardship to me in your waiting longer now. You arequite right in saying I have a sudden reason; this time last night I hadno special thought of hurrying on Charlotte's marriage. Her uncleproposed it; I considered his reasoning good--so good, that I gaveCharlotte permission this morning to fix with you the time for thewedding. But even then delay would have troubled me but little; now itdoes; now even these four short months trouble me sorely. "

"Why?" asked Hinton. 

"Why? You mentioned my health, and observed that I looked ill; I said Iwould come to that presently. I am ill; I look very ill. I have seenphysicians. To-day I went to see Sir George Anderson; he told me, without any preamble, the truth. My dear fellow, I want you to be mychild's protector in a time of trouble, for I am a dying man. "

Hinton had never come face to face with death in his life before. Hestarted forward now and clasped his hands. 

"Dying!" he repeated, in a tone of unbelief and consternation. 

"Yes; you don't see it, for I am going about. I shall go about much asusual to the very last. Your idea of dying men is that they stay in bedand get weak, and have a living death long before the last great mercycomes. That will not be my case. I shall be as you see me now to thevery last moment; then some day, or perhaps some night, you will comeinto this room, or into another room, it does not a bit matter where, and find me dead. "

"And must this come soon?" repeated Hinton. 

"It may not come for some months; it may stay away for a year; but againit may come to-night or to-morrow. "

"Good God!" repeated Hinton. 

"Yes, Mr. Hinton, you are right, in the contemplation of such a solemnand terrible event, to mention the name of your Creator. He is a goodGod, but His very goodness makes Him terrible. He is a God who will seejustice done; who will by no means cleanse the guilty. I am going intoHis presence--a sinful old man. Well, I bow to His decree. But enough ofthis; you see my reasons for wishing for an early marriage for mychild. "

"Mr. Harman, I am deeply, deeply pained and shocked. May I know thenature of your malady?"

"It is unnecessary to discuss it, and does no good; suffice it to knowthat I carry a disease within me which by its very nature must end bothsoon and suddenly; also that there is no cure for the disease. "

"Are you telling me all this as a secret?"

"As a most solemn and sacred secret. My brother suspects something ofit, but no one, no one in all the world knows the full and solemn truthbut yourself. "

"Then Charlotte is not to be told?"

"Charlotte! Charlotte! It is for her sake I have confided to you allthis, that you may guard her from such a knowledge. "

John Hinton was silent for a moment or two; if he disliked Charlottehaving a secret from him much more did he protest against the knowledgewhich now was forced upon him being kept from her. He saw that Mr. Harman was firmly set on keeping his child in the dark; he disapproved, but he hardly dared, so much did he fear to agitate the old man, to makeany vigorous stand against a decree which seemed to him both cruel andunjust. He must say something, however, so he began gently--

"I will respect your most sacred confidence, Mr. Harman; without yourleave no word from me shall convey this knowledge to Charlotte; butpardon me if I say a word. You know your own child very well, but I alsoknow Charlotte; she has lived, for all her talent and her five andtwenty years, the sheltered life of a child hitherto--but that isnothing; she is a noble woman, she has a noble woman's heart; introuble, such a nature as hers could rise and prove itself great. Don'tyou suppose, when by and by the end really comes, she will blame me, andeven perhaps, you, sir, for keeping this knowledge from her. "

"She will never blame her old father. She will see, bless her, that Idid it in love; you will tell her that, be sure you tell her that, whenthe time comes; please God, you will be her husband then, and you willhave the right to comfort her. "

"I hope to have the right to comfort her, I hope to be her husband;still, I think you are mistaken, though I can urge the matter nofurther. "

"No, for you cannot see it with my eyes; that child and I have lived themost unbroken life of peace and happiness together; neither storm norcloud has visited us in one another. The shadow of death must notembitter our last few months; she must be my bright girl to the verylast. Some day, if you and she ever have a daughter, you will understandmy feelings--at least in part you will understand it. "

"I cannot understand it now, but I can at least respect it, " answeredthe young man. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

"VENGEANCE IS MINE. "

When Hinton at last left him, Mr. Harman sat on for a long time by hisstudy fire. The fire burnt low but he did not replenish it, neither didhe touch the cold coffee which still remained on his table. After anhour or so of musings, during which the old face seemed each moment togrow more sad and careworn, he stretched out his hand to ring his bell. 

Almost instantly was the summons answered--a tall footman stood beforehim. 

"Dennis, has Mr. Jasper left?"

"Yes, sir. He said he was going to his club. I can have him fetched, sir. "

"Do not do so. After Mr. Hinton leaves, ask Miss Harman to come here. "

The footman answered softly in the affirmative and withdrew, and Mr. Harman still sat on alone. He had enough to think about. For the firsttime to-day death had come and stared him in the face; very close indeedhis own death was looking at him. He was a brave man, but the sight ofthe cold, grim thing, brought so close, so inevitably near, was scarcelyto be endured with equanimity. After a time, rising from his seat, hewent to a bookcase and took down, not a treatise on medicine orphilosophy, but an old Bible. 

"Dying men are said to find comfort here, " he said faintly to himself. He put one of the candles on the table and opened the book. It was anold Bible, but John Harman was not very well acquainted with itscontents. 

"They tell me there is much comfort here, " he said to himself. He turnedthe old and yellow leaves. 

"_Vengeance is mine. I will repay. _" These were the words on which hiseyes fell. 

Comfort! He closed the book with a groan and returned it to thebookshelf. But in returning it he chose the highest shelf of all andpushed it far back and well out of sight. 

He had scarcely done so before a light quick step was heard at the door, and Charlotte, her eyes and cheeks both bright, entered. 

"My dearest, my darling, " he said. He came to meet her, and folded herin his arms. He was a dying man, and a sin-laden one, but not the lesssweet was that young embrace, that smooth cheek, those bright, happyeyes. 

"You are better, father; you look better, " said his daughter. 

"I have been rather weak and low all the evening, Lottie; but I am muchbetter for seeing you. Come here and sit at my feet, my dear love. "

"I am very happy this evening, " said Charlotte, seating herself on herfather's footstool, and laying her hand on his knee. 

"I can guess the reason, my child; your wedding-day is fixed. "

"This morning, father, I said it should be the twentieth of June; Johnseemed quite satisfied, and four months were not a bit too long for ourpreparations; but to-night he has changed his mind; he wants our weddingto be in April. I have not given in--not yet. Two months seem so short. "

"You will have plenty of time to prepare in two months, dear; and Aprilis a nice time of year. If I were you, I would not oppose Hinton. "

Charlotte smiled. She knew in her heart of hearts she should not opposehim. But being a true woman, she laid hold of a futile excuse. 

"My book will not be finished. I like to do well what I do at all. "

Her father was very proud of this coming book; but now, patting herhand, he said softly, --

"The book can keep. Put it out of your head for the present; you can getit done later. "

"Then I shall leave you two months sooner, father; does that not weighwith you at all?"

"You are only going for your honeymoon, darling; and the sooner you gothe sooner you will return. "

"Vanquished on all points, " said Charlotte, smiling radiantly, and thenshe sat still, looking into the fire. 

Long, long afterwards, through much of sorrow--nay, even oftribulation--did her thoughts wander back to that golden evening of herlife. 

"You remind me of my own mother to-night, " said her father presently. 

Charlotte and her father had many times spoken of this dead mother. Nowshe said softly, --

"I want, I pray, I long to make as good a wife as you tell me she did. "

"With praying, longing, and striving, it will come Charlotte. That washow she succeeded. "

"And there is another thing, " continued Charlotte, suddenly changing herposition and raising her bright eyes to her old father's face. "You hada good wife and I had a good mother. If ever I die, as my own motherdied, and leave behind me a little child, as she did, I pray that myJohn may be as good a father to it as you have been to me. "

But in answer to this little burst of daughterly love, a strange thinghappened. Mr. Harman grew very white, so white that he gasped forbreath. 

"Water, a little water, " he said, feebly; and when Charlotte had broughtit to him and he raised it to his lips, and the color and power tobreathe had come back again, he said slowly and with great pain, --

"Never, never pray that your husband may be like me, Charlotte. To beworthy of you at all, he must be a much better and a very differentman. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

HAPPINESS NOT JUSTICE. 

Hinton left Mr. Harman's house in a very perplexed frame of mind. Itseemed to him that in that one short day as much had happened to him asin all the course of his previous life, but the very force of thethoughts, the emotions, the hopes, the fears, which had visited him, made him, strong, young and vigorous as he was, so utterly weary, thatwhen he reached his rooms he felt that he must let tired-out nature haveits way--he threw himself on his bed and slept the sleep of the youngand healthy until the morning. 

It was February weather, February unusually mild and genial, and the petday of yesterday was followed by another as soft and sweet and mild. When Hinton awoke from his refreshing slumbers, the day was so well andthoroughly risen that a gleam of sunshine lay across his bed. He startedup to discover a corresponding glow in his heart. What was causing thisglow? In a moment he remembered, and the gleam of heart sunshine grewbrighter with the knowledge. The fact was, happiness was standing by theyoung man's side, holding out two radiant hands, and saying, "Take me, take me to your heart of hearts, for I have come to dwell with you. "Hinton rose, dressed hastily, and went into his sitting-room. All thegloom which had so oppressed him yesterday had vanished. He could notresist the outward sunshine, nor the heart-glow which had come to him. He stepped lightly, and whistled some gay airs. He ate his breakfastwith appetite, then threw himself into an easy-chair which stood nearthe window; he need not go to his chambers for at least an hour, hemight give himself this time to think. 

Again happiness stepped up close and showed her beautiful face. Shouldhe take her; should he receive the rare and lovely thing and shut outthat stern sense of justice, of relieving the oppressed, of seeing thewronged righted, which had been as his sheet-anchor yesterday, which hadbeen more or less the sheet-anchor of his life. Here was his position. He was engaged to marry Charlotte Harman; he loved her with his wholeheart; she loved him with her whole heart; she was a beautiful woman, anoble woman, a wealthy woman. With her as his wife, love, riches, powermight all be his. What more could the warm, warm feelings of youthdesire? what more could the ambitions of youth aspire to? Yesterday, itis true, he had felt some rising of that noble pride which scorns toreceive so much and give so little. He had formed a wild, almostpassionate determination to obtain his brief before he obtained hisbride, but Mr. Harman had soothed that pride to sleep. There was indeeda grave and sad reason why this beautiful and innocent woman whom he hadwon should receive all the full comfort his love and protection couldgive her as quickly as possible. Her father was dying, and she must notknow of his approaching death. Her father wished to see her Hinton'swife as soon as possible. Hinton felt that this was reasonable, this wasfair; for the sake of no pride, true or false, no hoped-for brief, couldhe any longer put off their wedding. Nay, far from this. Last night hehad urged its being completed two months sooner than Charlotte herselfhad proposed. He saw by the brightness in Charlotte's eyes that, thoughshe did not at once agree to this, her love for him was such that shewould marry him in a week if he so willed it. He rejoiced in thesesymptoms of her great love, and the rejoicings of last night had risenin a fuller tide this morning. Yes, it was the rule of life, the oneeverlasting law, the old must suffer and die, the young must live andrejoice. Yes; Hinton felt very deep sympathy for Mr. Harman last night, but this morning, his happiness making him more self-absorbed thanreally selfish, he knew that the old man's dying and suffering statecould not take one iota from his present delight. 

What then perplexed him? What made him stand aloof from the radiantguest, Happiness, for a brief half hour? That story of Charlotte's; itwould come back to him; he wished now he had never heard it. For havingheard he could not forget: he could not exorcise this grim Thing whichstood side by side with Happiness in his sunny room. The fact was, hisacute mind took in the true bearings of the case far more clearly thanCharlotte had done. He felt sure that Mrs. Home had been wronged. Hefelt equally sure that, if he looked into the case, it lay in his powerto right her. Over and over he saw her pale, sad face, and he hoped itwas not going to haunt him. The tale in his mind lay all in Mrs. Home'sfavor, all against John and Jasper Harman. Was it likely that theirwealthy father would do anything so monstrously unjust as to leave allhis money to his two eldest sons with whom he had previously quarrelled, and nothing, nothing at all to his young wife and infant daughter? Itwould be a meaningless piece of injustice, unlike all that he hadgleaned of the previous character of the old man. As to John and Jasper, and their conduct in the affair, that too was difficult to fathom. Jasper had spent the greater portion of his life in Australia. Of hischaracter Hinton knew little; that little he felt was repugnant to him. But John Harman--no man in the City bore a higher character foruprightness, for integrity, for honor. John Harman was respected andloved by all who knew him. 

Yes, yes: Hinton felt that all this was possible, but also he knew thatnever in their close intercourse had he been able to fathom John Harman. A shadow rested over the wealthy and prosperous merchant. Never untilnow had Hinton even approached the cause; but now, now it seemed to himthat he was grappling with the impenetrable mystery, that face to facehe was looking at the long and successfully hidden sin. Strong man as hewas, he trembled as this fear came over him. Whatever the cause, whatever the sudden and swift temptation, he felt an ever-growingconviction that long ago John and Jasper Harman had robbed the widow andfatherless. Feeling this, being almost sure of this, how then should heact? He knew very well what he could do. He could go to Somerset Houseand see the will of old Mr. Harman. It was very unlikely that a forgedwill had been attempted. It was, he felt sure, far, far more probablethat the real will was left untampered with, that the deed of injusticehad been done in the hope that no one who knew anything about suchmatters would ever inquire into it. 

Hinton could go that very day and set his mind at rest. Why then did hehesitate? Ah! he knew but too well. Never and nearer came that shiningform of Happiness. If he did this thing, and found his suspicionscorrect, as he feared much he should, if he then acted upon thisknowledge and gave Mrs. Home her own again, happiness would fly fromhim, it might be for ever. To give Mrs. Home her rights he must cruellyexpose a dying old man. Such a shock, coming now, would most probablykill John Harman. After bringing her father to such shame and dishonor, would Charlotte ever consent to be his wife? would she not indeed invery horror fly from his presence? What was Mrs. Home to him, that heshould ruin his whole life for her sake, that he should give up wife, wealth, and fame? Nothing--a complete stranger. Why should he, for hersake, pain and make miserable those he loved, above all break the heartof the woman who was more precious to him than all the rest of theworld? He felt he could not do this thing. He must take that brightwinged happiness and let justice have her day when she could. Some otherhand must inflict the blow, it could not be his hand. He was sorry nowthat he had taken Mrs. Home's lodgings. But after all what did itsignify? He had taken them for a month, he could go there for that shortperiod. His quickly approaching marriage would make it necessary for himto leave very soon after, and he would try amongst his many friends tofind her a more permanent tenant, for though he had now quite made uphis mind to let matters alone, his heart ached for this woman. Yes, hewould, if possible, help her in little ways, though it would beimpossible for his hand to be the one to give her her own again. Havingcome to this determination he went out. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

"SUGAR AND SPICE AND ALL THAT'S NICE. "

Perhaps for one day Charlotte Harman was selfish in her happiness. Butwhen she awoke on the morning after her interview with her father, herfinely balanced nature had quite recovered its equilibrium. She was awoman whom circumstances could make very noble; all her leanings weretowards the good, she had hitherto been unassailed by temptation, untouched by care. All her life the beautiful and bright things of thisworld had been showered at her feet. She had the friends whom rich, amiable, and handsome girls usually make. She had the devotion of amost loving father. John Hinton met her and loved her. She responded tohis love with her full heart. Another father might have objected to hergiving herself to this man, who in the fashionable world's opinion wasnothing. But Harman only insisted on a slight delay to their marriage, none whatever to their engagement, and now, after scarcely a year ofwaiting, the embargo was withdrawn, their wedding-day was fixed, wasclose at hand. The twentieth of April (Charlotte knew she should notoppose the twentieth of April) was not quite two months away. Very lightwas her heart when she awoke to this happy fact. Happiness, too, wasstanding by her bedside, and she made no scruple to press the radiantcreature to her heart of hearts. But Charlotte's was too fine a natureto be spoiled by prosperity. Independent of her wealth, she must alwayshave been a favorite. Her heart was frank and generous; she wasthoughtful for others, she was most truly unselfish. Charlotte was afavorite with the servants; her maid worshipped her. She was a justcreature, and had read too much on social reform to give awayindiscriminately and without thought; but where her sense of justice wasreally satisfied, she could give with a royal hand, and there were manypoor whom Ward, her maid, knew, who, rising up, called Miss Harmanblessed. 

Charlotte had taken a great interest in Mrs. Home. Her face attracted, her manner won, before ever her story touched the heart of this youngwoman. The greatest pain Charlotte had ever gone through in her life hadfollowed the recital of Mrs. Home's tale, a terrible foreboding theawful shadow which points to wrong done, to sin committed by her bestand dearest, had come near and touched her. Uncle Jasper, with hisclever and experienced hand, had driven that shadow away, and in herfirst feeling of intense thankfulness and relief, she had almostdisliked the woman who had come to her with so cruel a tale. Allyesterday, in the midst of her own happiness, she had endeavored to shutMrs. Home from her thoughts; but this morning, more calm herself, theremembrance of the poor, pale, and struggling mother rose up again freshand vivid within her heart. It is true Mrs. Home believed a lie, a crueland dreadful lie; but none the less for this was she to be pitied, nonethe less for this must she be helped. Mrs. Home was Charlotte's nearrelation, she could not suffer her to want. As she lay in bed, shereflected with great thankfulness that John Hinton had said, on hearingthe tale, how manifestly it would be his and her duty to help this poormother. Yes, by and by they would give her enough to raise her above allwant, but Charlotte felt she could not wait for that distant time. Shemust succor Mrs. Home at once. Her father had said last night that, ifshe married in two months, there would be no time for her to finish herbook. He was right; she must give up the book; she would devote thismorning to Mrs. Home. 

She rose with her determination formed and went downstairs. As usual herfather was waiting for her, as usual he came up and kissed her; and asthey had done every morning for so many years, they sat down oppositeeach other to breakfast. Charlotte longed to speak to her father aboutMrs. Home, but he looked, even to her inexperienced eyes, very ill andhaggard, and she remembered her uncle's words and refrained from thesubject. 

"You seem so feeble, father, had you not better go into town in thecarriage this morning?" she asked, as he rose from his chair. 

To her surprise he assented, even confessed that he had already orderedthe carriage. He had never to her knowledge done such a thing before, and little as she knew of real illness, nothing as she knew of dangerand death, she felt a sharp pain at her heart as she watched him drivingaway. The pain, however, was but momentary, lost in the pressinginterests of other thoughts. Before eleven o'clock she had started offto see Mrs. Home. 

Now it was by no means her intention to go to this newly found relationempty handed. Mrs. Home might or might not be willing to receive a giftof money, but Charlotte hoped so to be able to convey it to her as tosave her pride from being too greatly hurt. 

Charlotte had a small banking account of her own. She drove now straightto her bank in the city, and drawing fifty pounds in one note slipped itinto her purse. From the bank she went to a children's West End shop. She there chose a lovely velvet frock for the fair-haired little Daisy, two embroidered white dresses for the baby; and going a little farthershe bought a smart tailor suit for the eldest boy. After buying thepretty clothes she visited a toy shop, where she loaded herself withtoys; then a cake shop to purchase cakes and other goodies; and havingat last exhausted her resources; she desired the coachman to drive toMrs. Home's address in Kentish Town. She arrived, after a drive of alittle over half an hour, to find the lady whom she had come to seek, out. The dirty little maid stared with full round eyes at the beautifulyoung lady and at the handsome carriage, and declared she did not knowwhen her missis would be in. 

For a moment Charlotte felt foiled; but she was excited now--she couldnot go away, laden as she was with fairy gifts, without making someeffort to dispense these blessings. 

"I am a relation of Mrs. Home's and I want to see the children. Are thechildren in?" she asked of the little maid. 

Rounder and rounder grew that small domestic's eyes. 

"They can't be hout without me, " she volunteered; "ain't I the nuss andmaid-of-all work? Yes, the children is hin. "

Then she opened the dining-room door, and Charlotte, first flying to thecarriage and returning laden with brown paper parcels, followed her intothe little parlor. 

The maid, on the swift wings of excitement, flew upstairs. There was thequick patter of eager little feet, and in a very few moments the doorwas pushed open and a boy and girl entered. Charlotte recognized them ata glance. They were the very handsome little pair whose acquaintance shehad made yesterday in Regent's Park. The girl hung back a trifle shyly, but the boy, just saying to his sister, "The pretty lady, " came up, andraised his lips for a kiss. 

"You don't think me rude?" he said; "you don't mind kissing me, do you. "

"I love to kiss you; I am your own cousin, " said Charlotte. 

"My own cousin! Then I may sit on your knee. Daisy, come here--thepretty lady is our own cousin. "

On hearing this, Daisy too advanced. Neither child had any idea what theword cousin meant, but it seemed to include proprietorship. They strokedCharlotte's furs, and both pairs of lips were raised again and again formany kisses. In the midst of this scene entered the little maid with thebaby. Pretty as Daisy and Harold were, they were nothing to the baby;this baby of eight months had a most ethereal and lovely face. 

"Oh, you beauty! you darling!" said Charlotte, as she clasped the littlecreature in her arms, and the baby, too young to be shy, allowed her tokiss him repeatedly. 

"What a lot of lumber!" said Daisy, touching the brown-paper parcels. 

This little child's speech brought Charlotte back to the fact of hercakes and toys. Giving baby to his small nurse, she opened hertreasures. Daisy received her doll with a kind of awed rapture, Haroldrattled his drum and blew his trumpet in a way most distracting to anyweak nerves within reasonable distance, and the baby sucked some ratherunwholesome sweets. No child thought of thanking their benefactor, butflushed cheeks, bright eyes, eager little voices, were thanks louder andmore eloquent than words. 

"I want to see your mother; when will she be in?" asked Charlotte, aftera little quiet had been restored. 

"Not all day, " answered Harold. "Mother has gone with father to nurse apoor sick lady; she won't be back till quite night. "

"She said we were to be very good; we are, aren't we?" said Daisy. 

"Yes, darling; you are quite perfect, " replied the inexperiencedCharlotte. 

"Did our mother ask you to come and play with us and give us lovelythings?" demanded Harold. 

"She does not know I am here, my dear little boy; but now, if you willshow me where I can get a sheet of paper, I will just write your mothera little note. "

The paper was quickly found, and Charlotte sat down, a boy and girl oneach side. It was not easy to say much under such circumstances, so thewords in the little note were few. 

"You will give this to your mother when she comes in. See!--I will putit on the mantelpiece, " she said to Harold; "and you must not touchthese parcels until mother opens them herself. Yes; I will come again. Now, good-by. " Her bonnet was decidedly crooked as she stepped into thecarriage, her jacket was also much crumpled; but there was a very sweetfeel of little arms still round her neck, and she touched her hair andcheeks with satisfaction, for they had been honored by many childkisses. 

"I believe she's just a fairy godmother, " said Harold, as he watched thecarriage rolling away. 

"I never seed the like in hall my born days, " remarked the smallmaid-of-all-work. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

"THE PRETTY LADY"

"Mother, mother, mother!"

"And look!--oh, do look at what I have got!" were the words that greetedMrs. Home, when, very tired, after a day of hard nursing with one of herhusband's sick parishioners, she came back. 

The children ought to have been in bed, the baby fast asleep, the littleparlor-table tidily laid for tea: instead of which, the baby wailedunceasingly up in the distant nursery, and Harold and Daisy, havingnearly finished Charlotte's sweeties, and made themselves veryuncomfortable by repeated attacks on the rich plum-cake, were now, withvery flushed cheeks, alternately playing with their toys and pokingtheir small fingers into the still unopened brown-paper parcels. Theyhad positively refused to go up to the nursery, and, though the gas waslit and the blinds were pulled down, the spirit of disorder had mostmanifestly got into the little parlor. 

"Oh, mother!--what _do_ you think? The lovely lady!--the lady we met inthe park yesterday!--she has been, and she brought us _lots_ ofthings--toys, and sweeties, and cakes, and--oh, mother, do look!"

Daisy presented her doll, and Harold blew some very shrill blasts fromhis trumpet right up into his mother's eyes. 

"My dear children, " said Mrs. Home, "whom do you mean? where did you getall these things? who has come here? Why aren't you both in bed? It islong past your usual hour. "

This string of questions met with an unintelligible chorus of replies, in which the words "pretty lady, " "Regent's Park, " "father knew her, ""we _had_ to sit up, " so completely puzzled Mrs. Home, that had not hereyes suddenly rested on the little note waiting for her on themantelpiece she would have been afraid her children had taken leave oftheir senses. 

"Oh, yes; she told us to give you that, " said Harold when he saw hismother take it up. 

I have said the note was very short. Charlotte Home read it in a moment. 

"Mother, mother! what does she tell you, and what are in the otherparcels? She said we weren't to open them until you came home. Oh, _do_tell us what she said, and let us see the rest of the pretty things!"

"Do, do mother; we have been so patient 'bout it!" repeated littleDaisy. 

Harold now ran for the largest of the parcels, and raised it for hismother to take. Both children clung to her skirts. Mrs. Home put thelarge parcel on a shelf out of reach, then she put aside the hot andeager little hands. At last she spoke. 

"My little children must have some more patience, for mother can tellthem nothing more to-night. Yes, yes, the lady is very pretty and verykind, but we can talk no more about anything until the morning. Now, Harold and Daisy, come upstairs at once. "

They were an obedient, well-trained little pair. They just looked at oneanother, and from each dimpled mouth came a short, impatient sigh; thenthey gave their hands to mother, and went gravely up to the nursery. Charlotte stayed with her children until they were undressed. She sawthem comfortably washed, their baby prayers said, and each little headat rest on its pillow, then kissing the baby, who was also by this timefast asleep, she went softly downstairs. 

Anne, the little maid, was flying about, trying to get the tea ready andsome order restored, but when she saw her mistress she could not refrainfrom standing still to pour out her excited tale. 

"Ef you please, 'em, it come on me hall on a 'eap. She come in that freeand that bounteous, and seemed as if she could eat all the children upwid love; and she give 'em a lot, and left a lot more fur you, 'em. Andwhen she wor goin' away she put half-a-crown in my hand. I never seedthe like--never, 'em--never! She wor dressed as grand as Queen Victoryherself, and she come in a carriage and two spanking hosses; and, please, 'em, I heard of her telling the children as she wos own cousinto you, 'em. "

"Yes, I know the young lady, " replied Mrs. Home. "She is, as you say, very nice and kind. But now, Anne, we must not talk any more. Yourmaster won't be in for an hour, but I shan't wait tea for him; we willhave some fresh made later. Please bring me in a cup at once, for I amvery tired. "

Anne gazed at her mistress in open-eyed astonishment. Any one--any oneas poor as she well knew missis to be--who could take the fact of beingcousin to so beautiful and rich a young lady with such coolness andapparent indifference quite passed Anne's powers of comprehension. 

"It beats me holler--that it do!" she said to herself; then, with astart, she ran off to her kitchen. 

Mrs. Home had taken her first cup of tea, and had even eaten a piece ofbread and butter, before she again drew Charlotte Harman's little noteout of her pocket. This is what her eyes had already briefly glancedover:--

 DEAR FRIEND AND SISTER--for you must let me call you so--I have come to see you, and finding you out asked to see your children. I have lost my heart to your beautiful and lovely children. They are very sweet! Your baby is more like an angel than any earthly creature my eyes have ever rested on. Charlotte, I brought your children a few toys, and one or two other little things. You won't be too proud to accept them. When I bought them I did not love your children, but I loved you. You are my near kinswoman. You won't take away the pleasure I felt when I bought those things. Dear Sister Charlotte, when shall we meet again? Send me a line, and I will come to you at any time. Yours, "CHARLOTTE HARMAN. "

It is to be regretted that Charlotte Home by no means received thissweet and loving little note in the spirit in which it was written. Herpale, thin face flushed, and her eyes burnt with an angry light. Thisburst of excited feeling was but the outcome of all she had undergonementally since she had left Miss Harman's house a few days ago. She hadsaid then, and truly, that she loved this young lady. The pride, thestately bearing, the very look of open frankness in Charlotte's eyes hadwarmed and touched her heart. She had not meant to tell to those ears, so unaccustomed to sin and shame, this tale of long-past wrong. It hadbeen in a manner forced from her, and she had seen a flush ofperplexity, then of horror, color the cheeks and fill the fine braveeyes. She had come away with her heart sympathies so moved by this girl, so touched, so shocked with what she herself had revealed, that shewould almost rather, could her father's money now be hers, relinquishit, than cause any further pain or shame to Charlotte Harman. 

She came home and confided what she had done to her husband. It is nottoo much to say that he was displeased--that he was much hurt. TheCharlotte who in her too eagerness for money could so act was scarcelythe Charlotte he had pictured to himself as his wife. Charlotte waslowered in the eyes of the unworldly man. But just because her husbandwas so unworldly, so unpractical, Charlotte's own more everyday naturebegan to reassert itself. She had really done no harm. She had but tolda tale of wrong. Those who committed the wrong were the ones to blame. She, the sufferer--who could put sin at her door? Her sympathy forCharlotte grew less, her sorrow for herself and her children more. Shefelt more sure than ever that injustice had been committed--that she andher mother had been robbed; she seemed to read the fact in CharlotteHarman's innocent eyes, Charlotte, in spite of herself, even though herown father was the one accused, believed her--agreed with her. 

All that night she spent in a sort of feverish dream, in which she sawherself wealthy, her husband happy, her children cared for as they oughtto be. The ugly, ugly poverty of her life and her surroundings had allpassed away like a dream that is told. 

She got up in a state of excitement and expectation, for what might notCharlotte Harman do for her? She would tell the tale to her father, andthat father, seeing that his sin was found out, would restore her to herrights. Of course, this must be the natural consequence. Charlotte wasnot low and mean; she would see that she had her own again. Mrs. Homemade no allowance for any subsequent event--for any influence other thanher own being brought to bear on the young lady. All that day shewatched the post; she watched for the possibility of a visit. Neitherletter nor visit came, but Mrs. Home was not discouraged. That day wastoo soon to hear; she must wait with patience for the morrow. 

On the morrow her husband, who had almost forgotten her story, asked herto come and help him in the care of a sick woman at some distance away. Charlotte was a capital sick-nurse, and had often before given similaraid to Mr. Home in parish work. 

She went, spent her day away, and returned to find that Charlotte hadcome--that so far her dream was true. Yes, but only so far, forCharlotte had come, not in shame, but in the plenitude of a generousbenefactor. She had come laden with gifts, and had gone away with thehearts of the children and the little maid. Charlotte Home felt a greatwave of anger and pain stealing over her heart. In her pain anddisappointment she was unjust. 

"She is a coward after all. She dare not tell her father. She believesmy tale, but she is not brave enough to see justice done to me and mine;so she tries to make up for it; she tries to salve her conscience andbribe me with gifts--gifts and flattery. I will have none of it. Myrights--my true and just rights, or nothing! These parcels shall go backunopened to-morrow. " She rose from her seat, and put them all tidilyaway on a side-table. She had scarcely done so before her husband'slatch-key was heard in the hall-door. He came in with the weary lookwhich was habitual to his thin face. "Oh, Angus, how badly you do wantyour tea!" said the poor wife. She was almost alarmed at her husband'spallor, and forgot Charlotte while attending to his comfort. 

"What are those parcels, Lottie?" he said, noticing the heaped-up thingson the side-table. 

"Never mind. Eat your supper first, " she said to him. 

"I can eat, and yet know what is in them. They give quite a Christmasand festive character to the place. And what is that I see lying on thatchair--a new doll for Daisy? Why, has my careful little woman been soextravagant as to buy the child another doll?"

Mr. Home smiled as he spoke. His wife looked at him gravely. She pickedup the very pretty doll and laid it with the other parcels on theside-table. 

"I will tell you about the parcels and the doll if you wish it, " sheanswered. "Miss Harman called when I was out, and brought cakes, andsweeties, and toys to the children. She also brought those parcels. I donot know what they contain, for I have not opened them. And she left anote for me. I cannot help the sweeties and cakes, for Harold and Daisyhave eaten them; but the toys and those parcels shall go backto-morrow. "

Mrs. Home looked very proud and defiant as she spoke. Her husbandglanced at her face; then, with a slight sigh, he pushed his supperaside. 

"No, I am not hungry, dear. I am just a little overtired. May I see MissHarman's note?"

Charlotte put it at once into his hand. 

He read it carefully once--twice. His own spirit was very loving andChrist-like; consequently the real love and true human feeling in thelittle note touched him. 

"Lottie, " he said, as he gave it back to his wife, "why do you want topain that sweet creature?"

Mrs. Home took the note, and flung it into the fire. 

"There!" she said, an angry spot on each cheek. "She and hers haveinjured me and mine. I don't want gifts from her. I want my rights!"

To this burst of excited feeling Mr. Home answered nothing. After amoment or two of silence he rang the bell, and when Anne appeared askedher to take away the tea-things. After this followed an hour of perfectquiet. Mrs. Home took out her great basket of mending. Mr. Home satstill, and apparently idle, by the fire. After a time he left the roomto go for a moment to his own. Passing the nursery, he heard a littlemovement, and, entering softly, saw Harold sitting up in his little cot. 

"Father, is that you?" he called through the semi-light. 

"Yes, my boy. Is anything the matter? Why are you not asleep?"

"I couldn't, father dear; I'm so longing for to-morrow. I want to blowmy new trumpet again, and to see the rest of the brown-paper parcels. Father, do come over to me for a moment. "

Mr. Home came, and put his arm round the little neck. 

"Did mother tell you that _our_ pretty lady came to-day, and broughtsuch a splendid lot of things?"

"Whose pretty lady, my boy?"

"_Ours_, father--the lady you, and I, and Daisy, and baby met in thepark yesterday. You said it was rude to kiss her, and _she_ did notmind. She gave me dozens and dozens of kisses to-day. "

"She was very kind to you, " said Mr. Home. Then, bidding the child liedown and sleep, he left him and went on to his own room. He was going tohis room with a purpose. That purpose was quickened into intensity bylittle Harold's words. 

That frank, fearless, sweet-looking girl was Miss Harman! That letterwas, therefore, not to be wondered at. It was the kind of letter hewould have expected such a woman to write. What was the matter with hisLottie?

In his perplexity he knelt down; he remained upon his knees for aboutten minutes, then he returned to the little parlor. The answer to hisearnest prayer was given to him almost directly. His wife was no longerproud and cold. She looked up the moment he entered, and said, --

"You are angry with me, Angus. "

"No, my darling, " he answered, "not angry, but very sorry for you. "

"You must not be sorry for me. You have anxieties enough. I must not addto them. Not all the Miss Harmans that ever breathe shall bring a cloudbetween you and me. Angus, may I put out the gas and then sit close toyou? You shall talk me out of this feeling, for I do feel bad. "

"I will talk all night if it makes you better, my own Lottie. Now, whatis troubling you?"

"In the first instance, you don't seem to believe this story about ourmoney. "

"I neither believe it, nor the reverse--I simply don't let it troubleme. "

"But, Angus, that seems a little hard; for if the money was left to meby my father I ought to have it. Think what a difference it would maketo us all--you, and me, and the children?"

"We should be rich instead of poor. It would make that difference, certainly. "

"Angus, you talk as if this difference was nothing. "

"Nothing! It is not quite nothing; but I confess it does not weigh muchwith me. "

"If not for yourself, it might for the children's sakes; think what adifference money would make to our darlings. "

"My dear wife, you quite forgot when speaking so, that they are God'slittle children as well as ours. He has said that not a sparrow fallswithout His loving knowledge. Is it likely when that is so, that He willsee His children and ours either gain or suffer from such a paltry thingas money?"

"Then you will do nothing to get back our own?"

"If you mean that I will go to law on the chance of our receiving somemoney which may have been left to us, certainly I will not. The fact is, Lottie--you may think me very eccentric--but I cannot move in thismatter. It seems to me to be entirely God's matter, not ours. If Mr. Harman has committed the dreadful sin you impute to him, God must bringit home to him. Before that poor man who for years has hidden such a sinin his heart, and lived such a life before his fellow-men, is fit to goback to the arms of His father, he must suffer dreadfully. I pray, frommy heart I pray, that if he committed the sin he may have the suffering, for there is no other road to the Father; but I cannot pray that thisawful suffering may be sent to give us a better house, and our childrenfiner clothes, and that richer food may be put on our table. "

Mrs. Home was silent for a moment, then she said, --

"Angus, forgive me, I did not look at it in that light. "

"No, my dearest, and because I so pity her, if her father really isguilty, I do not want you unnecessarily to pain Miss Harman. Youremember my telling you of that fine girl I met in Regent's Parkyesterday, the girl who was so kind and nice to our children. I havejust been up with Harold, and he tells me that your Miss Harman and hispretty lady are one and the same. "

"Is that really so?" answered Mrs. Home. "Yes. I know that CharlotteHarman is very attractive. Did I not tell you, Angus, that she had wonmy own heart? But I confess when I saw those gifts and read her note Ifelt angry. I thought after hearing my tale she should have done more. These presents seemed to me in the light of a bribe. "

"Charlotte!"

"Ah! I know you are shocked. You cannot see the thing with my eyes; thatis how they really looked to me. "

"Then, my dear wife, may I give you a piece of advice?"

"That is what I am hungering for, Angus. "

"Tell the whole story, as frankly--more frankly than you have told it tome, to God to-night. Lay the whole matter in the loving hands of yourFather, then, Charlotte; after so praying, if in the morning you stillthink Miss Harman was actuated by so mean a spirit, treat her as shedeserves. With your own hands deal the punishment to her, sendeverything back. "

Mrs. Home's face flushed very brightly, and she lowered her eyes toprevent her husband seeing the look of shame which filled them. Theresult of this conversation was the following note written the nextmorning to Miss Harman. 

 I could not have thanked you last night for what you have done, but I can to-day. You have won my children's little hearts. Be thankful that you have made my dear little ones so happy. You ask to see me again, Miss Harman. I do not think I can come to you, and I don't ask you to come here. Still I will see you; name some afternoon to meet me in Regent's Park and I will be there. 

 Yours, CHARLOTTE HOME. 

Thus the gifts were kept, and the mother tried to pray away a certainsoreness which would remain notwithstanding all her husband's words. Shewas human after all, however, and Charlotte Harman might have beenrewarded had she seen her face the following Sunday morning when shebrought her pretty children down to their father to inspect them intheir new clothes. 

Harold went to church that morning, with his mother, in a verypicturesque hat; but no one suspected quite how much it was worth, noteven those jealous mothers who saw it and remarked upon it, and wonderedwho had left Mrs. Home a legacy, for stowed carefully away under thelining was Charlotte Harman's bright, crisp, fifty-pound note. 

CHAPTER XX. 

TWO CHARLOTTES. 

It was a week after; the very day, in fact, on which Hinton was to giveup his present most comfortable quarters for the chances and changes ofMrs. Home's poor little dwelling. That anxious young wife and mother, having completed her usual morning duties, set off to Regent's Park tomeet Miss Harman. It was nearly March now, and the days, even in theafternoon, were stretching, and though it was turning cold the feelingof coming spring was more decidedly getting into the air. 

Mrs. Home had told her children that she was going to meet their prettylady, and Harold had begged hard to come too. His mother would havetaken him, but he had a cold, and looked heavy, so she started off forher long walk alone. Won by her husband's gentler and more Christ-likespirit, Mrs. Home had written to Miss Harman to propose this meeting;but in agreeing to an interview with her kinswoman she had effected acompromise with her own feelings. She would neither go to her nor askher to come to the little house in Kentish Town. The fact was she wantedto meet this young woman on some neutral ground. There were certainunwritten, but still most stringent, laws of courtesy which each mustobserve in her own home to the other. Charlotte Home intended, as shewent to meet Miss Harman on this day of early spring, that very plainwords indeed should pass between them. 

By this it will be seen that she was still very far behind her husband, and that much of a sore and angry sensation was still lingering in herheart. 

"Miss Harman will, of course, keep me waiting, " she said to herself, asshe entered the park, and walked quickly towards the certain part wherethey had agreed to meet. She gave a slight start therefore, when she sawthat young woman slowly pacing up and down, with the very quiet andmeditative air of one who had been doing so for some little time. MissHarman was dressed with almost studied plainness and simplicity. All therich furs which the children had admired were put away. When she sawMrs. Home she quickened her slow steps into almost a run of welcome, andclasped her toil-worn and badly gloved hands in both her own. 

"How glad I am to see you! You did not hurry, I hope. You are quite outof breath. Why did you walk so fast?"

"I did not walk fast until I saw you under the trees, Miss Harman. Ithought I should have time enough, for I imagined I should have to waitfor you. "

"What an unreasonable thing to suppose of me! I am the idle one, you thebusy. No: I respect wives and mothers too much to treat them in thatfashion. " Miss Harman smiled as she spoke. 

Mrs. Home did not outwardly respond to the smile, though the graciousbearing, the loving, sweet face were beginning very slowly to effect athaw, for some hard little ice lumps in her heart were melting. Theimmediate effect of this was, however, so strong a desire to cry that, to steel herself against these untimely tears, she became in mannerharder than ever. 

"And now what shall we do?" said Charlotte Harman. "The carriage iswaiting for us at the next gate; shall we go for a drive, or shall wewalk about here?"

"I would rather walk here, " said Mrs. Home. 

"Very well. Charlotte, I am glad to see you. And how are your children?"

"Harold has a cold. The other two are very well. "

"I never saw sweeter children in my life. And do you know I met yourhusband? He and your children both spoke to me in the park. It was theday before I came to your house. Mr. Home gave me a very short sermon tothink over. I shall never forget it. "

"He saw you and liked you, " answered Mrs. Home. "He told me of thatmeeting. "

"And I want another meeting. Such a man as that has never come into mylife before. I want to see more of him. Charlotte, why did you proposethat we should meet here? Why not in my house, or in yours? I wanted tocome to you again. I was much disappointed when I got your note. "

"I am sorry to have disappointed you; but I thought it best that weshould meet here. "

"But why? I don't understand. "

"They say that rich people are obtuse. I did not want to see yourriches, nor for you to behold the poverty of my land. "

"Charlotte!"

"Please don't think me very hard, but I would rather you did not sayCharlotte. "

"You would rather I did not say Charlotte?"

Two large tears of surprise and pain filled Miss Harman's gray eyes. Butsuch a great flood of weeping was so near the surface with the otherwoman that she dared not look at her. 

"I would rather you did not say Charlotte, " she repeated, "for we callthose whom we love and are friendly with by their Christian names. "

"I thought you loved me. You said so. You can't take back your ownwords. "

"I don't want to. I do love you in my heart. I feel I could love youdevotedly; but for all that we can never be friends. "

Miss Harman was silent for a moment or two, then she said slowly, butwith growing passion in her voice, "Ah! you are thinking of thatwretched money. I thought love ranked higher than gold all the worldover. "

"So it does, or appears to do, for those who all their lives have hadplenty; but it is just possible, just possible, I say, that those whoare poor, poor enough to know what hunger and cold mean, and have seentheir dearest wanting the comforts that money can buy, it is possiblethat such people may prefer their money rights to the profession ofempty love. "

"Empty love!" repeated Miss Harman. The words stung her. She was growingangry, and the anger became this stately creature well. With cheeks andeyes both glowing she turned to her companion. "If you and I are not topart at once, and never meet again, there must be very plain wordsbetween us. Shall I speak those words?" she asked. 

"I came here that our words might be very plain, " answered Mrs. Home. 

"They shall be, " said Charlotte Harman. 

They were in a very quiet part of the park. Even the nurses and childrenwere out of sight. Now they ceased walking, and turned and faced eachother. 

They were both tall, and both the poor and the rich young woman hadconsiderable dignity of bearing; but Charlotte Home was now the composedone. Charlotte Harman felt herself quivering with suppressed anger. Injustice was being dealt out to her, and injustice to the child ofaffluence and luxury was a new sensation. 

"You came to me the other day, " she began, "I had never seen you before, never before in all my life ever heard your name. You, however, knew me, and you told me a story. It was a painful and very strange story. Itmade you not only my very nearest kin, but also made you the victim of agreat wrong. The wrong was a large one, and the victim was to be pitied;but the sting of it all lay, to me, not in either of the facts, but inthis, that you gave me to understand that he who had dealt you such ablow was--my father. My father, one of the most noble, upright, andrighteous of men, you made out to me, to me, his only child, to be nobetter than a common thief. I did not turn you from my doors for yourbase words. I pitied you. In spite of myself I liked you; in spite ofmyself I _believed_ you. You went away, and in the agony of mind whichfollowed during the next few hours I could have gladly fled for everfrom the sight of all the wide world. I had been the very happiest ofwomen. You came. You went. I was one of the most miserable. I am engagedto be married, and the man I am engaged to came into the room. I feltguilty before him. I could not raise my eyes to his, for, again I tellyou, I believed your tale, and my father's bitter shame was mine. Icould not rest. Happen what would I must learn the truth at once. I havean uncle, my father's brother; he must know all. I sent my lover awayand went to this uncle. I asked to have an interview with him, and inthat interview I told him all you had told to me. He was not surprised. He acknowledged at once the true and real relationship between us; buthe also explained away the base doubts you had put into my head. Myfather, my own beloved father, is all, and more than all, I have everthought him. He would scorn to be unjust, to rob any one. You have beenunfortunate; you have been treated cruelly; but the injustice, thecruelty have been penetrated by one long years now in his grave. Inshort, your father has been the wicked man, not mine. "

Here Mrs. Home tried to speak, but Miss Harman held up her hand. 

"You must hear me out, " she said. "I am convinced, but I do not expectyou to be. After my uncle had done speaking, and I had time to realizeall the relief those words of his had given me, I said, still aninjustice has been done. We have no right to our wealth while shesuffers from such poverty. Be my grandfather's will what it may, we mustalter it. We must so act as if he had left money to his youngest child. My uncle agreed with me; perhaps not so fully as I could wish, still hedid agree; but he made one proviso. My father is ill, I fear. I fear heis very ill. The one dark cloud hanging over his whole life lay in thoseyears when he was estranged from his own father. To speak of you I mustbring back those years to his memory. Any excitement is bad for him now. My uncle said, 'Wait until your father is better, then we will dosomething for Mrs. Home. ' To this I agreed. Was I very unreasonable toagree to this delay for my father's sake?"

Here Charlotte Harman paused and looked straight at her companion. Mrs. Home's full gaze met hers. Again, the innocent candor of the one pair ofeyes appealed straight to the heart lying beneath the other. Unconvincedshe was still. Still to her, her own story held good: but she wassoftened, and she held out her hand. 

"There is no unreasonableness in _you_, Charlotte, " she said. 

"Ah! then you will call me Charlotte?" said the other, her face glowingwith delight. 

"I call you so now. I won't answer for the future. "

"We will accept the pleasant present. I don't fear the future. I shallwin your whole heart yet. Now let us drop all disagreeables and talkabout those we both love. Charlotte, what a baby you have got! Your babymust be an angel to you. "

"All my children are that to me. When I look at them I think God hassent to me three angels to dwell with me. "

"Ah! what a happy thought, and what a happy woman. Then your husband, hemust be like the archangel Gabriel, so just, so righteous, so noble. Ilove him already: but I think I should be a little afraid of him. He isso--so very unearthly. Now you, Mrs. Home, let me tell you, are veryearthly, very human indeed. "

Mrs. Home smiled, for this praise of her best beloved could not but bepleasant to her. She told Miss Harman a little more about her husbandand her children, and Miss Harman listened with that appreciation whichis the sweetest flattery in the world. After a time she said, --

"I am not going to marry any one the least bit unearthly, but I see youare a model wife, and I want to be likewise. For--did I not tell you?--Iam to be married in exactly two months from now. "

"Are you really? Are you indeed?"

Was it possible after this piece of confidence for these two young womennot to be friends?

Charlotte Home, though so poor, felt suddenly, in experience, in alltrue womanly knowledge, rich beside her companion. Charlotte Harman, forall her five and twenty years, was but a child beside this earnest wifeand mother. 

They talked; the one relating her happy experience, the other listening, as though on her wedding-day she was certainly to step into the land ofBeulah. It was the old, old story, repeated again, as those two paced upand down in the gray March afternoon. When at last they parted there wasno need to say that they were friends. 

And yet as she hurried home the poor Charlotte could not help reflectingthat whatever her cause she had done nothing for it. Charlotte Harmanmight be very sweet. It might be impossible not to admire her, to loveher, to take her to her heart of hearts. But would that love bring backher just rights? would that help her children by and by? She reachedher hall door to find her husband standing there. 

"Lottie, where have you been? I waited for you, for I did not like to goout and leave him. Harold is ill, and the doctor has just left. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

A FRIEND IN NEED. 

For many days after that interview in Regent's Park, it seemed that oneof the three, who made the little house in Kentish Town so truly likeheaven, was to be an angel indeed. Harold's supposed cold had turned toscarlet fever, and the doctor feared that Harold would die. 

Immediately after her interview with Charlotte Harman, Mrs. Home wentupstairs to learn from the grave lips of the medical man what ailed herboy, and what a hard fight for life or death he had before him. She wasa brave woman, and whatever anguish might lie underneath, no tearsfilled her eyes as she looked at his flushed face. When the doctor hadgone, she stole softly from the sick-room, and going to the drawing-roomwhere Hinton was already in possession, she tapped at the door. 

To his "Come in, " she entered at once, and said abruptly withoutpreface, --

"I hope you have unpacked nothing. I must ask you to go away at once. "

She had her bonnet still on, and, but for the pallor of her face, shelooked cold, even unmoved. 

"I have everything unpacked, and I don't want to go. Why should I?"demanded Hinton, in some surprise. 

"My eldest boy has scarlet fever. The other two will probably take it. You must on no account stay here; you must leave to-night if you wish toescape infection. "

In an instant Hinton was by her side. 

"Your boy has scarlet fever?" he repeated. "I know something of scarletfever. He must instantly be moved to an airy bedroom. The best bedroomin the house is mine. Your boy must sleep in my bedroom to-night. "

"It is a good thought, " said Mrs. Home. "Thank you for suggesting it--Iwill move him down at once; the bed is well aired, and the sheets arefresh and clean. I will have him moved whenever you can go. "

She was leaving the room when Hinton followed her. 

"I said nothing about going. I don't mean to. I can have a blanket andsleep on the sofa. I am not going away, Mrs. Home. "

"Mr. Hinton, have you no one you care for? Why do you run this risk. "

"I have some one I care for very much indeed; but I run no risk. I hadscarlet fever long ago. In any case I have no fear of infection. Now Iknow your husband is out; let me go upstairs and help you bring down thelittle fellow. "

"God bless you, " said the wife and mother. Her eyes were beautiful asshe raised them to the face of this good Samaritan. 

 * * * * *

The little patient was moved to the large and comfortable room, andHinton found himself in the position of good angel to this poor family. He had never supposed himself capable of taking such a post with regardto any one; but the thing seemed thrust upon him. An obvious duty hadcome into his life, and he never even for the briefest instant dreamedof shirking it. He was a man without physical fear. The hardships oflife, the roughing of poverty were not worth a passing thought ofannoyance; but there was one little act of self-denial which he must nowexercise; and it is to be owned that he felt it with a heart-pang. Hehad never told Charlotte that he was going to live in the house withMrs. Home. He had not meant to keep this fact a secret from her, butthere was still a soreness over him when he thought of this young womanwhich prevented her name coming readily to his lips. On this first nightin his new abode he sat down to write to his promised wife; but neithernow did he give his address, nor tell his landlady's name. He had anobvious reason, however, now for his conduct. 

This was what Charlotte received from her lover on the followingmorning, --

 "MY DARLING, --Such a strange thing has happened; but one which, thank God, as far as I am concerned, need not cause you the least alarm. I moved from my old lodgings to-day and went a little further into the country. I had just unpacked my belongings and was expecting some tea, for I was hot and thirsty, when my landlady came in and told me that her eldest child is taken very ill with scarlet fever. She has other children, and fears the infection will spread. She is a very poor woman, but is one of those who in their bearing and manner, you, Charlotte, would call noble. She wanted me to leave at once, but this, Charlotte, I could not do. I am staying here, and will give her what little help lies in my power. You know there is no fear for me, for I had the complaint long ago. But, dearest, there is just one thing that is hard. Until this little child is better, I must not see you. You have not had this fever, Charlotte, and for you, for my own sake, and your father's sake, I must run no risk. I will write to you every day, or as much oftener as you wish, for I can disinfect my paper; but I will not go to Prince's Gate at present. "

 "Ever, my own true love, "Yours most faithfully, "John Hinton. "

This letter was posted that very night, but Hinton did not put his newaddress on it; he meant Charlotte now for prudential reasons to write tohis chambers. He returned to his lodgings, and for many weary andanxious nights to come shared their watch with Mr. And Mrs. Home. Soquietly, so absolutely had this young man stepped into his office, thatthe father and mother did not think of refusing his services. He was agood nurse, as truly tender-hearted and brave men almost always are. Thesick child liked his touch. The knowledge of his presence was pleasant. When nothing else soothed him, he would lie quiet if Hinton held hislittle hot hand in his. 

One evening, opening his bright feverish eyes, he fixed them full onHinton's face and said slowly and earnestly, --

"I did kiss that pretty lady. "

"He means a lady whom he met in the Park; a Miss Harman, who came hereand brought him toys, " explained Mrs. Home. 

"Yes, isn't she a pretty lady?" repeated little Harold. 

"Very pretty, " answered Hinton, bending low over him. 

The child smiled. It was a link between them. He again stole his handinto that of the young man. But as days wore on and the fever did notabate, the little life in that small frame began to grow feeble. Frombeing an impossibility, it grew to be probable, then almost certain, that the little lad must die. Neither father nor mother seemed alive tothe coming danger; but Hinton, loving less than they did, was notblinded. He had seen scarlet fever before, he knew something of itstreatment; he doubted the proper course having ever been pursued here. One evening he followed the doctor from the sick-room. 

"The child is very ill, " he said. 

"The child is so ill, " answered the medical man, "that humanly speakingthere is very little hope of his life. "

"Good sir!" exclaimed Hinton, shocked at his fears being put into suchplain language. "Don't you see that those parents' lives are bound up inthe child's, and they know nothing? Why have you told them nothing? Onlyto-night his mother thought him better. "

"The fever is nearly over, and in consequence the real danger beginning;but I dare not tell the mother, she would break down. The father is ofdifferent stuff, he would bear it. But there is time enough for themother to know when all is over. "

"I call that cruel. Why don't you get in other advice?"

"My dear sir, they are very poor people. Think of the expense, and itwould be of no use, no use whatever. "

"Leave the expense to me, and also the chance of its doing any good. Ishould never have an easy moment if I let that little lad die withouthaving done all in my power. Two heads are better than one. Do youobject to consulting with Dr. H----?"

"By no means, Mr. Hinton. He is a noted authority on such cases. "

"Then be here in an hour from now, doctor, and you shall meet him. "

Away flew Hinton, and within the specified time the great authority onsuch cases was standing by little Harold's bedside. 

"The fever is over, but the child is sinking from exhaustion. Give him aglass of champagne instantly, " were the first directions given by thegreat man. 

Hinton returned with a bottle of the best his money could purchase inten minutes. 

A tablespoonful was given to the child. He opened his eyes and seemedrevived. 

"Ah! that is good. I will stay with the little fellow to-night, " saidDr. H----. "You, madam, " he added, looking at Mrs. Home, "are to go tobed. On no other condition do I stay. "

Hinton and Dr. H---- shared that night's watch between them, and in themorning the little life was pronounced safe. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

EMPTY PURSES. 

It was not until Harold's life was really safe that his mother realizedhow very nearly he had been taken from her. But for Hinton's timelyinterposition, and the arrival of Doctor H---- at the critical moment, the face she so loved might have been cold and still now, and the spirithave returned to God who gave it. 

Looking at the little sleeper breathing in renewed health and life witheach gentle inspiration, such a rush of gratitude and over-poweringemotion came over Mrs. Home that she was obliged to follow Hinton intohis sitting-room. There she suddenly went down on her knees. 

"God bless you, " she said. "God most abundantly bless you for what youhave done for me and mine. You are, except my husband, the most trulyChristian man I ever met. "

"Don't, " said Hinton, moved and even shocked at her position. "Iloved--I love the little lad. It is nothing, what we do for those welove. "

"No; it is, as you express it, nothing to save a mother's heart fromworse than breaking, " answered Charlotte Home. "If ever you marry andhave a son of your own, you will begin to understand what you have donefor me. You will be thankful then to think of this day. "

Then with a smile which an angel might have given him, the mother wentaway, and Hinton sat down to write to Charlotte. But he was much movedand excited by those earnest words of love and approval. He felt asthough a laurel wreath had been placed on his head, and he wonderedwould his first brief, his first sense of legal triumph, be sweeter tohim than the look in that mother's face this morning. 

"And it was so easily won, " he said to himself. "For who but a bruteunder the circumstances could have acted otherwise?"

In writing to Charlotte he told her all. It was a relief to pour out hisheart to her, though of course he carefully kept back names. 

By return of post he received her answer. 

"I must do something for that mother. You will not let me come to her. But if I cannot and must not come, I can at least help with money. Howmuch money shall I send you?"

To this Hinton answered, --

"None. She is a proud woman. She would not accept it. "

As he put this second letter in the post, he felt that any money giftbetween these two Charlottes would be impossible. During little Harold'sillness he had put away all thoughts of the possibility of Mrs. Homebeing entitled to any of his Charlotte's wealth. The near and likelyapproach of death had put far from his mind all ideas of money. But now, with the return of the usual routine of life in this small and humblehouse, came back to Hinton's mind the thoughts which had so sorelytroubled him on the night on which Charlotte had told him Mrs. Home'sstory. For his own personal convenience and benefit he had put awaythese thoughts. He had decided that he could not move hand or foot inthe matter. But in the very house with this woman, though he might soresolve not to act, he could not put the sense of the injustice done toher away from his heart. He pondered on it and grew uneasy as to therighteousness of his own conduct. As this uneasiness gathered strength, he even avoided Mrs. Home's presence. For the first time, too, in hislife Hinton was beginning to realize what a very ugly thingpoverty--particularly the poverty of the upper classes--really is. Tomake things easier for this family in their time of illness, he hadinsisted on having what meals he took in the house, in the room with Mr. And Mrs. Home. He would not, now that Harold was better, change thiscustom. But though he liked it, it brought him into direct contact withthe small shifts necessary to make so slender a purse as their's covertheir necessary expenses. Mr. Home noticed nothing; but Mrs. Home's thinface grew more and more worn, and Hinton's heart ached as he watched it. He felt more and more compunctions as to his own conduct. Thesefeelings were to be quickened into activity by a very naturalconsequence which occurred just then. 

Little Harold's life was spared, and neither Daisy nor the baby hadtaken the fever. So far all was well. Doctor H----, too, had ceased hisvisits, and the little invalid was left to the care of the first doctorwho had been called in. Yes, up to a certain point Harold's progresstowards recovery was all that could be satisfactory. But beyond thatpoint he did not go. For a fortnight after the fever left him hisprogress towards recovery was rapid. Then came the sudden standstill. His appetite failed him, a cough came on, and a hectic flush in the palelittle face. The child was pining for a change of air, and the father'sand mother's purse had been already drained almost to emptiness by theexpenses of the first illness. One day when Doctor Watson came and feltthe feeble, too rapid pulse he looked grave. Mrs. Home followed him fromthe room. 

"What ails my boy, doctor? He is making no progress, none whatever. "

"Does he sleep enough?" asked Doctor Watson suddenly. 

"Not well; he coughs and is restless. "

"Ah! I am sorry he has got that cough. How is his appetite?"

"He does not fancy much food. He has quite turned against his beef-tea. "

Doctor Watson was silent. 

"What is wrong?" asked Mrs. Home, coming nearer and looking up into hisface. 

"Madam, there is nothing to alarm yourself with. Your boy has gonethrough a most severe illness; the natural consequences must follow. Hewants change. He will be fit to travel by easy stages in a week atlatest. I should recommend Torquay. It is mild and shielded from thespring east winds. Take him to Torquay as soon as possible. Keep himthere for a month, and he will return quite well. "

"Suppose I cannot?"

"Ah! then----" with an expressive shrug of the shoulders and raising ofthe brows, "my advice is to take him if possible. I don't like thatcough. "

Doctor Watson turned away. He felt sorry enough, but he had more acutecases than little Harold Home's to trouble him, and he wisely resolvedthat to think about what could not be remedied, would but injure his ownpowers of working. Being a really kind-hearted man he said to himself, "I will make their bill as light as I can when I send it in. " And thenhe forgot the poor curate's family until the time came round for hisnext visit. Meanwhile Mrs. Home stood still for a moment where he hadleft her, then went slowly to her own room. 

"Mother, mother, I want you, " called the weak, querulous voice of thesick child. 

"Coming in a moment, darling, " she said. But for that one moment, shefelt she must be alone. 

Locking her door she went down on her knees. Not a tear came to hereyes, not a word to her lips. There was an inward groan, expressingitself in some voiceless manner after this fashion, --

"My God, my God, must I go through the fiery furnace?" Then smoothingher hair, and forcing a smile back to her lips, she went back to herlittle son. 

All that afternoon she sat with him, singing to him, telling himstories, playing with him. In the evening, however, she sought anopportunity to speak to her husband alone. 

"Angus, you know how nearly we lost our boy a week ago?"

The curate paused, and looked at her earnestly, surprised at her lookand manner. 

"Yes, my dearest, " he said. "But God was merciful. "

"Oh! Angus, " she said; and now relief came to her, for as she spoke shebegan to weep. "You are good, you are brave, you could have let him go. But for me--for me--it would have killed me. I should have died or gonemad!"

"Lottie dear--my darling, you are over-strung. The trial, the fierytrial, was not sent. Why dwell on what our loving Father has averted?"

"Oh, Angus! but has He--has He, " then choking with pent-up emotion, shetold what the doctor had said to-day, how necessary the expensive changewas for the little life. "And we have no money, " she said in conclusion, "our purse is very nearly empty. "

"Very nearly empty indeed, " answered Angus Home. 

He was absolutely silent after this news, no longer attempting tocomfort his wife. 

"Angus, God is cruel if for the sake of wanting a little money our boymust die. "

"Don't, " said the curate--God was so precious to him that these wordssmote on him even now with a sense of agony--"don't, " he repeated, andhe raised his hand as though to motion away an evil spirit. 

"He is cruel if He lets our boy die for want of money to save him, "repeated the mother in her desperation. 

"He won't do that, Lottie--He will never do that, there is not the leastfear. "

"Then how are we to get the money?"

"I don't know, I cannot think to-night. I will go up to Harold now. "

He turned and left the room with slow steps. As he mounted the stairshis back was so bent, his face so gray and careworn, that thoughscarcely forty he looked like an old man. 

This was Harold's one precious hour with his father, and the littlefellow was sitting up in bed and expecting him. 

"Father, " he said, noticing the anxious look on his face, which wasgenerally as serene and peaceful as the summer sea, "what is the matter?You are ill; are you going to have the scarlet fever too?"

"No, my dear, dear boy. I am quite well, quite well at least in body. Ihave a care on my mind that makes me look a little sad, but don't noticeit, Harold, it will pass. "

"_You_ have a care on your mind!" said Harold in a tone of surprise. "Iknow mother often, often has, but I did not think you had cares, father. "

"How can I help it, boy, sometimes?"

"I thought you gave your cares to God. I don't understand a bit how youmanage it, but I remember quite well your telling mother that you gaveyour cares away to God. "

The father turning round suddenly, stooped down and kissed the boy. 

"Thank you, my son, for reminding me. Yes, I will give this care too toGod, it shall not trouble me. "

Then the two began to talk, and the son's little wasted hand was held inthe father's. The father's face had recovered its serenity, and thelittle son, though he coughed continually, looked happy. 

"Father, " he said suddenly, "there's just one thing I'm sorry for. "

"What's that, my boy?"

"There were a whole lot of other things, father; about my never havinggone to live in the country, and those gypsy teas that mother told meof. You light a fire outside, you know, father, and boil the kettle onit, and have your tea in the woods and the fields. It must be justdelicious. I was sorry about that, for I've never been to one, never_even_ to one all my life long; and then there's the pretty lady--I dowant to see my pretty lady once again. I was sorry about those thingsall day, but not now. 'Tisn't any of those things makes me so sorrynow. "

"What makes you sorry, Harold?"

"Father, I'm just a little bit jealous about Jesus. You see there'salways such a lot of us little children dying and going to heaven, andHe can't come for us all, so He has to send angels. Now I don't want anangel, I want Him to come for me Himself. "

"Perhaps He will, Harold, " said his father, "perhaps Jesus will be sovery loving to His little lamb that He will find time to come for himHimself. "

"Oh, father! when you are giving Him your new care to-night, will youjust ask Him not to be so dreadfully busy, but to try and come Himself?"

"Yes, Harold, " said the father. 

After this promise little Harold went to sleep very happily. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

"THY WILL BE DONE. "

"You always give your cares to God, " little Harold had said to hisfather. 

That father, on his knees with his head bowed between his hands, and atempest of agony, of entreaty in his heart, found suddenly that he couldnot give this care away to God. For a moment, when the boy had spoken, he had believed that this was possible, but when little Harold hadhimself spoken so quietly of dying and going to Jesus, the father'sheart rose suddenly in the fiercest rebellion. No; if it meant theslaying of his first-born he could not so quietly lay it in the hands ofGod and say, "Thy will be done. " This unearthly man, who had alwayslived with a kind of heaven-sent radiance round his path, found himselfsuddenly human after all. His earthly arms clung tightly round theearthly form of his pretty little lad and would not unclasp themselves. It was to this man who had so serenely and for many years walked in thesunshine of God's presence, with nothing to hide his glory from hiseyes, as though he had come up to a high, a blank, an utterlyimpenetrable wall, which shut away all the divine radiance. He couldneither climb this wall, nor could he see one glimpse of God at the darkside where he found himself. In an agony this brave heart tried to pray, but his voice would not rise above his chamber, would not indeed evenascend to his lips. He found himself suddenly voiceless and dumb, deaddespair stealing over him. He did not, however, rise from his knees, andin this position his wife found him when, late that night, she came upto bed. She had been crying so hard and so long that by very force ofthose tears her heart was lighter, and her husband, when he raised hiseyes, hollow from the terrible struggle within, to her face, looked nowthe most miserable of the two. The mute appeal in his eyes smote on thewife's loving heart, instantly she came over and knelt by his side. 

"You must come to bed, Angus dear. I have arranged with Mr. Hinton, andhe will sit up with our little lad for the next few hours. "

"I could not sleep, Lottie, " answered the husband. "God is coming totake away our child and I can't say, 'Thy will be done. '"

"You can't!" repeated the wife, and now her lips fell apart and shegazed at her husband. 

"No Lottie; you called God cruel downstairs, and now He looks cruel tome. I can't give Him my first-born. I can't say 'Thy will be done;' butoh!" continued the wretched man, "this is horrible, this is blasphemous. Oh! has God indeed forsaken me?"

"No, no, no!" suddenly almost shrieked the wife; "no, no!" she repeated;and now she had flung her arms round her husband and was straining himto her heart. "Oh, my darling! my beloved! you were never, never, never, so near to me, so dear to me, as now. God does not want you to say that, Angus. Angus, it is _not_ God's will that our child should die, it isSatan's will, not God's. God is love, and it can't be love to tortureus, and tear our darling away from us like that. The will of God isrighteousness, and love, and happiness; not darkness, and death, andmisery. Oh, Angus! let us both kneel here and say, 'Thy will be done, 'for I believe the will of God will be to save the child. "

A great faith had suddenly come to this woman. She lifted her voice, anda torrent of eloquent words, of passionate utterances, rent the air andwent up to God from that little room, and the husband stole his handinto the wife's as she prayed. After this they both slept, and Lottie'sheart was lighter than it had ever been in all her life before. 

The next morning this lightness, almost gayety of heart, was stillthere. For the time she had really changed places with her husband; for, believing that the end would be good, she felt strong to endure. 

Mr. And Mrs. Home went downstairs to find Hinton regarding themanxiously. He had not spent a long night with the sick child withoutgathering very clearly how imminent was the peril still hanging over thefamily. Harold's night had been a wretched one, and he was weaker thismorning. Hinton felt that a great deal more must be done to restoreHarold to health; but he had not heard what Dr. Watson had said, and wastherefore as yet in the dark and much puzzled how best to act. Seeingthe mother's face serene, almost calm, as she poured out the tea, andthe father's clouded over, he judged both wrongly. 

"She is deceived, " he said of the one. "He knows, " he said of the other. Had he, however, reversed the positions it would have been nearer thetruth. 

He went away with a thousand schemes in his head. He would visit thedoctor. He would--could he--might he, risk a visit to Charlotte? He wasresolved that in some way he must save the boy; but it was not reservedfor his hand to do the good deed on this occasion. After breakfast hewent out, and Mr. Home, feeling almost like a dead man, hurried off tothe daily service. 

For a brief moment Charlotte was alone. The instant she found herselfso, she went straight down on her knees, and with eyes and heart raisedto heaven, said, aloud and fervently, --

"Thy holy, loving, righteous Will be done. "

Then she got up and went to her little son. In the course of the morningthe boy said to his mother, --

"How much I should like to see that pretty lady. "

"It would not be safe for her to come to you, my darling, " said Mrs. Home. "You are not yet quite free from infection, and if you saw hernow she might get ill. You would not harm your pretty lady, Harold?"

"No, indeed, mother, not for worlds. But if I can't see her, " he added, "may I have her toys to play with?"

The mother fetched them and laid them on the bed. 

"And now give me what was in the brown paper parcels, mother. The dear, dear, dainty clothes! Oh! didn't our baby look just lovely in his velvetfrock? Please, mother, _may_ I see those pretty things once again?"

Mrs. Home could not refuse. The baby's pelisse, Daisy's frock, andHarold's own hat were placed by his side. He took up the hat with agreat sigh of admiration. It was of dark purple plush, with a plume ofostrich feathers. 

"May I put it on, mother?" asked the little lad. 

He did so, then asked for a glass to look at himself. 

"Ah?" he said, half crying, half frightened at his wasted pale littleface under this load of finery, "I don't like it now. My pretty, prettylady's hat is much too big for me now. I can't wear it. Oh! mother, wouldn't she be disappointed?"

"She shan't be, " said the mother, "for I will draw in the lining, andthen it will fit you as well as possible. "

"But oh! mother, do be careful. I saw her put in a nice little bit ofsoft paper; I saw her put it under the lining my own self. You willcrush that bit of paper if you aren't careful, mother. "

The mother did not much heed the little eager voice, she drew in a cordwhich ran round the lining, then again placed the hat on Harold's head. 

"Now it fits, darling, " she said. 

"But I think the bit of paper is injured, " persisted the boy. "How funnyI should never have thought of it until now. I'll take it out, mother, and you can put it by with the other things. "

The little fingers poked under the lining and drew out something thinand neatly folded. 

"Look, look, mother!" he said excitedly; "there's writing. Read it, mother; read what she said. "

Mrs. Home read, --

 "For Harold, with his lady's love. "

She turned the paper. There, staring her in the face, lay a fresh, crispBank of England note for fifty pounds. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

"YOU KEPT A SECRET FROM ME. "

Hinton, when he went away that morning, was, as I have said, veryundecided how best to act. He saw very clearly the fresh danger arisingto Harold. Was he but rescued from the dangerous fever to fall a prey tolingering, or, perhaps, rapid consumption? Even his unprofessional eyesaw the danger the boy was in; and the boy himself, lying awake duringmost of the weary hours of the night, had confided to his friend somethoughts which it seemed to Hinton could only come to such a child asthe precursor of death. He now loved the boy for his own sake, and hewas determined, even more determined than during the height of thefever, to do something to again save his life. 

After a brief pause for rapid thought, he determined to visit Dr. Watson. That busy man was at home and saw Hinton at once. 

"Little Home is no better, " said Hinton, going straight, as his wontwas, to the very heart of his subject. 

"He will never be any better unless he has change, " replied the doctor. "Neither I nor any other man can now do more for him. He requires, nay, he is dying for want of nature's remedies, complete change, fresh, mildsea-air. I told his mother so most plainly yesterday. I recommendedTorquay within a week from now, if she wishes to save his life. "

"Torquay is an expensive place, and a very long way from London, "replied Hinton. "It seems almost cruel to tell Mrs. Home to do that forher child which must be utterly impossible. "

"There is no other chance for his life, " replied the doctor. "I shouldbe doing less than my duty, did I for a moment conceal that fact. "

Hinton paused for a moment to think, then he abruptly changed thesubject. 

"I want to visit a friend this morning--a friend who has never hadscarlet fever. It is rather important that we should meet; but I mustnot risk danger. You know I have been a good deal with the little boy. Is there a risk to my friend in our meeting now?"

"Change all your clothes, " replied the doctor; "wear nothing you have inthe Homes' house. Perhaps it would also be a wise precaution to take aTurkish bath. If you do all this you may meet your friend without theslightest risk of evil consequences. "

Hinton thanked the doctor, and as the result of this conversationentered the dining-room in Prince's Gate just as Charlotte was sittingdown to her solitary luncheon. 

It was over three weeks since these two had met, and the long threeweeks had seemed like for ever to the loving heart of the woman, who wasso soon now to be Hinton's wife. She expressed her joy at thisunexpected meeting, not so much by words, but so effectually with eyesand manner, that Hinton, as he folded his arms round her, could not helpa great throb of thankfulness rising up from his heart. 

They sat down to lunch, and then afterwards Hinton told her the story oflittle Harold Home. In telling this tale, however, he omitted again bothname and address. He had not meant when beginning his tale to keep thesethings any longer a mystery from her, but as the words dropped from him, and Charlotte's eyes were fixed on his face, and Charlotte's lipstrembled with emotion, some undefined sensation prompted him to keepback these particulars. 

Hinton, in coming to Charlotte, relied on her help, but he meant herjust now to bestow it as on a stranger. As he had expected, his talearoused her warmest enthusiasm and interest. 

"John, " she said, "something must be done. The boy must not die!"

"He must go to Torquay, " replied Hinton. "That is most manifest. But thedifficulty will be how. They are very proud people. The difficulty willbe how to induce them to accept aid from outsiders. "

"Do you think they will be proud, John, when their child's life dependson their accepting some aid from others? I don't think they will allowso false an emotion to sacrifice his little precious life. It seems tome, that were I in that mother's place, I would lick the dust off themost menial feet that ever walked, to save my child. "

"Perhaps you are right, " said Hinton: "there is no doubt that one womancan best read the heart of another. What I propose is, that I take thelittle boy down to Torquay for a few weeks; I can make an excuse to themother on my own score, and it will not seem so hard for her to send herboy. And the little lad loves me, I believe. "

"Would it not be best for the mother to take her child herself?"

"It undoubtedly would. But it would be placing her under deeperobligation. I want to make it as light as possible to her. "

"Then, John, you will give me one happiness? I will provide the moneyfor this expedition. "

"You shall, my dearest, " answered Hinton, stooping down and kissing her. 

He meant her to help Charlotte Home in this way, and he did not noticethe slight sigh scarcely allowed to escape her lips. The fact was, Charlotte Harman had grown very hungry, almost starved, for her loverduring his three weeks' absence, and now the thought that he was goingstill farther away from her, and their wedding-day drawing so quicklyon, could not but excite a pang; the selfish part of her rose in revolt, and struggled to rebel, but with a firm hand she kept it well under, andHinton never noticed her strangled little sigh. They talked for a longtime of their plans, and Charlotte mentioned what money she had of hervery own, and which could be immediately at Hinton's disposal. In themidst of this conversation, the postman's knock was heard, and a momentlater a servant brought Charlotte a letter. She did not recognize thehandwriting, and laid it for a moment unopened by her side. Then someconfused remembrance of having seen it before, caused her to tear openthe envelope. This was what her eyes rested on. 

 Charlotte--my sister and friend--I have found the little piece of paper you put into my Harold's hat. I never knew it was there until to-day. Thank God I did not know, for had I seen it after your visit, I should certainly, in my mad, ungracious, evil pride, have returned it to you. 

 Dear Charlotte--God nearly broke my heart since I saw you. He nearly took my boy away. In that process my pride has gone, though my love and tenderness and gratitude to you remain, for with this fifty pounds you are saving my child's little life. Thank you for it. God will bless you for it. You will never--never regret this deed. It will come back to you, the remembrance of it, in the midst of your own wealth and affluence, or if dark days visit you, you will let your thoughts wander to it as a place of safe anchorage in the storm. It will, all your life long, be a source to you of rejoicing that you saved a father's and mother's hearts from breaking, and kept a precious little life in this world. 

 I can add no more now, my dear. For this money must be spent, and at once. Oh! precious, valuable gold, which is to keep Harold with me! I will write to you when we come back from Torquay; do not come to see me before, it would not be safe for you. 

 Ever, my dear friend, because of you, the happiest and most grateful mother on God's earth, CHARLOTTE HOME. 

Charlotte Harman's face was very white when, after reading this letter, she raised her eyes to Hinton's. What had been written with all joy andthankfulness was received with pain. Why had Hinton kept this thing fromher? Why had he not told her where he had been staying?

"You kept a secret from me, " she said, and her eyes filled with heavytears. 

Then as he tried to comfort her, being very compunctious himself athaving failed utterly to trust one so brave and noble, she suddenly drewherself from his embrace. 

"John, " she said, with some pride in her voice, "did you in any degreekeep this thing from me because you believed Mrs. Home's story about mygrandfather's will?"

"I had a thousand nameless reasons for not telling you, Charlotte. Myprincipal one after the child got ill was my fear that you would come tothe house, and so run the risk of infection. "

"Then you do not at all believe Mrs. Home's story?"

"I have not investigated it, my darling. I have done nothing but simplylisten to what you yourself told me. _You_ do not believe it?"

"Certainly not! How could I? It implicates my father. "

"We will not think of it, Charlotte. "

"We must think of it, for justice must be done to this woman and to herchildren; and besides, I wish to clear it up, for I will not have myfather blamed. "

Hinton was silent. Charlotte gazed at him eagerly, his silencedissatisfied her. His whole manner carried the conviction that his faithin her father was by no means equal to hers. 

"Is it possible to see wills?" she asked suddenly. 

"Certainly, dear; anybody can see any will by paying a shilling, atSomerset House. "

"Would my grandfather's will be kept at Somerset House?"

"Yes. All wills are kept there. "

"Then, " said Charlotte, rising as she spoke, "before our wedding-day Iwill go to Somerset House and read my grandfather's will. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

THEY RECALL TOO MUCH. 

Mr. Harman had a hard task before him. He was keeping two things at bay, two great and terrible things, Death and Thought. They were pursuinghim, they were racing madly after him, and sometimes the second of thesehis enemies so far took possession of him as to grasp him by theheartstrings. But though he knew well that in the end both one and theother would conquer and lay him low, yet still he was in a measurevictor. That strong nourishment, those potent medicines were keeping thelife in him; while his still eager absorption in business prevented thattime for reflection which was worse than death. His medical man, knowingnothing of his inner history, had begged of him to rest, to give upbusiness, assuring him that by so doing he would prolong his short spanof life. But Harman had answered, and truly, "If I give up business Ishall be in my grave in a fortnight;" and there was such solemnconviction in his voice and manner, that the physician was fain to bowto the dictum of his patient. Except once to his brother Jasper, andonce to Hinton, Mr. Harman had mentioned to no one how near he believedhis end to be. The secret was not alluded to, the master of the housekeeping up bravely, bearing his pains in silence and alone, and thatsubtle element of rejoicing began to pervade this quiet, luxurious homewhich precedes a wedding. Only one in the dwelling ever thought offuneral gloom. 

Little Harold Home had gone to Torquay with his mother. Hinton was oncemore free to go in and out of the house in Prince's Gate, and he andCharlotte were necessarily much occupied with each other. There seemedto these two so much to be done, and the time seemed so short until thetwentieth of April, that had the very sun stood still for them, theywould have felt no undue sensation of surprise. 

When people are about to step into the Garden of Eden even nature mustsympathize, and marriage seemed that to Charlotte and Hinton. Aftertheir wedding tour it was arranged that they were to come to the housein Prince's Gate. For some time Mr. Harman had begged them to make ittheir home; but though Hinton could not oppose, he had a hope of someday settling down in a smaller house. He liked the power which wealthcould give, but he was so unused to luxuries, that they were inthemselves almost repellent to him. Charlotte, on the contrary, wasperfectly happy to live in the old place. Home to this womanly heart waswherever her loved ones were; and she also acceded joyfully to anotherquestion which otherwise might have appeared a little either strange orselfish. Her father begged of her not to extend her wedding tour beyonda week. "Come back to me, " said the old man, "at the end of a week; letme feel that comfort when you say good-by on your wedding-day. "

Charlotte had promised, with her arms round his neck and her bright hairtouching his silver locks. And now April had set in, and the days flewfast. All was bustle and confusion, and milliners and dressmakers workedas though there had never been a bride before, and Charlotte, too, believed there had never been so happy, so fortunate, so altogetherblessed a woman as herself. 

One of those spring days, for the weather was particularly lovely, Mr. Harman came home earlier than usual and went to his study. For nospecial reason he had found it impossible to settle to any active workthat morning. He had hastened home, and now taking his accustomedmedicine, lay back in his armchair to rest. The medicine he had takenwas partly of a sedative character, but to-day it failed in all soothingeffects. That bloodhound Thought was near, and with a bound it sprangforward and settled its fangs into his heartstrings. 

Mr. Harman could not sit still, he rose and began to pace his room. Stay--how could he quiet this monster of remorse and reflection? Woulddeath do it by and by? He shook his head as this idea came to him. Weredeath but an annihilation he could, would, how gladly, welcome it, butall his firmest convictions pointed to a God and a future. A future tohim meant retribution. He found it absolutely impossible to comfort hisheart with so false a doctrine as that of annihilation. In the midst ofhis meditations his brother Jasper entered. 

"Good Heavens! John, you do look bad!" he exclaimed almostinvoluntarily, noticing the anguish on the fine old face. 

"I'm a very miserable man, " answered John Harman, and he sank down intoa chair as he spoke. 

"I would not think so much about my health, " said Jasper; "doctors arethe most mistaken fools under the sun. I knew a man out in Australia, and the first medical man in Sydney told him he had not a week to live. He came home and made his will and bid all his relations good-by. Well, what were the consequences? The week came to an end, but not the man; mydear John, that man is alive now, and what is more, he is in theenjoyment of perfect health. The doctor was all wrong; they are mortallike ourselves, man, and by no means infallible. I would not take mydeath for granted, if I were you; I would determine to take out a freshlease of life when Charlotte is married. Determination does wonders insuch cases. "

"I am not thinking of my death, " answered Mr. Harman; "were death butall, I could almost welcome it. No, it is not death, it is memory. Jasper, " he added, turning fiercely on his brother, "you were as thevery devil to me once, why do you come to preach such sorry comfortnow?"

Jasper Harman had an impenetrable face, but at these words it turned ashade pale. He went to the fire and stirred it, he put on more coal, heeven arranged in a rather noisy way one or two of the chimney ornaments. 

"If only that trustee had not died just then--and if only--only you hadnot tempted me, " continued the elder man. 

"You forget, John, " suddenly said Jasper, "what the alternative wouldhave been just then, absolute ruin, ruin coupled with disgrace!"

"I do not believe in the disgrace, and as to the ruin, we could havestarted afresh. Oh! to start even now with but sixpence in my pocket, and with clean hands! What would have been the old disgrace compared tothe present misery?"

"Take comfort, John, no one knows of it; and if we are but careful noone need ever know. Don't excite yourself, be but careful, and no oneneed ever know. "

"God knows, " answered the white-headed elder brother. And at these wordsJasper again turned his face away. After a time, in which he thoughtbriefly and rapidly, he turned, and sitting down by John, began tospeak. 

"Something has come to my knowledge which may be a comfort to you. I didnot mention it earlier, because in your present state of health I knowyou ought not to worry yourself. But as it seems you are soover-sensitive, I may as well mention that it will be possible for youto make reparation without exposing yourself. "

"How?" asked Mr. Harman. 

"I know where Daisy Harman's daughter lives--you know we completely lostsight of her. I believe she is poor; she is married to a curate, allcurates are poor; they have three children. Suppose, suppose yousettled, say, well, half the money her mother had for her lifetime, onthis young woman. That would be seventy-five pounds a year; a greatdifference seventy-five pounds would make in a poor home. "

"A little of the robbery paid back, " said Mr. Harman with a drearysmile. "Jasper, you are a worse rogue than I am, and I believe you studythe Bible less. God knows I don't care to confront myself with itsmorality, but I have a memory that it recommends, nay, commands, in thecase of restoring again, or of paying back stolen goods, that not halfshould be given, but the whole, multiplied fourfold!"

"Such a deed, as Quixotic as unnecessary, could not be done, it wouldarouse suspicion, " said Jasper decidedly. 

After this the two brothers talked together for some time. Jasper quietand calm, John disturbed and perplexed, too perplexed to notice that theyounger and harder man was keeping back part of the truth. Butconversation agitated John Harman, agitated him so much that thatevening some of the veil was torn from his daughter's eyes, for duringdinner he fainted away. Then there was commotion and dismay, and theinstant sending for doctors, and John Hinton and Jasper Harman both feltalmost needless alarm. 

When the old man came to himself he found his head resting on hisdaughter's shoulder. During all the time he was unconscious she had eyesand ears for no one else. 

"Leave me alone with the child, " he said feebly to all the others. Whenthey were gone, he looked at her anxious young face. "There is no cause, my darling, no cause whatever; what does one faint signify? Put yourarms round me, Charlotte, and I shall feel quite well. "

She did so, laying her soft cheek against his. 

"Now you shall see no one but me to-night, " she said, "and I shall sitwith you the whole evening, and you must lie still and not talk. You areill, father, and you have tried to keep it from me. "

"A little weak and unfit for much now, I confess, " he said in a tone ofrelief. He saw she was not seriously alarmed, and it was a comfort toconfide so far in her. 

"You are weak and tired, and need rest, " she said: "you shall see no oneto-night but me, and I will stay with you the whole evening!"

"What!" said her father, "you will give up Hinton for me, Lottie!"

"Even that I will do for you, " she said, and she stooped and kissed hisgray head. 

"I believe you love me, Lottie. I shall think of that all the week youare away. You are sure you will only remain away one week?"

"Father, you and I have never been parted before in all my life; Ipromise faithfully to come back in a week, " she answered. 

He smiled at this, and allowing her still to retain his hand in hers, sank into a quiet sleep. While he slept Charlotte sat quietly at hisfeet. She felt perplexed and irresolute. Her father's fainting fit hadalarmed her, and now, looking into his face, even to her inexperience, the ravages which disease, both mental and physical, had brought therecould not but be apparent to her. She had to acknowledge to herself thather father, only one year her Uncle Jasper's senior, looked a very old, nay, she could not shut her eyes to the fact, a very unhappy man. Whatbrought that look on his face? A look which she acknowledged to herselfshe had seen there all her life, but which seemed to be growing inintensity with his added years. She closed her own eyes with a pang as aswift thought of great anguish came over her. This thought passed asquickly as it came; in her remorse at having entertained it she stoopeddown and kissed the withered old hand which still lay in hers. 

It was impossible for Charlotte really to doubt her father; but occupiedas she was with her wedding preparations, and full of brightness as hersky undoubtedly looked to her just now, she had not forgotten Hinton'smanner when she had asked him what faith he put in Mrs. Home's story. Hinton had evaded her inquiry. This evasion was as much as owning thathe shared Mrs. Home's suspicions. Charlotte must clear up her belovedfather in the eyes of that other beloved one. If on all hands she waswarned not to agitate him, there was another way in which she could doit: she could read her grandfather's will. But though she had made upher mind to do this, she had an unaccountable repugnance to the task. For the first time in all her open, above-board life she would be doingsomething which she must conceal from her father. Even John Hintonshould not accompany her to Somerset House. She must find the will andmaster its contents, and the deed once done, what a relief to her! Withwhat joy would she with her own lips chase away the cloud which she feltsure rested over her beloved father in her lover's heart!

"It is possible that, dearly as we love each other, such a little doubtmight divide us by and by, " she said to herself. "Yes, yes, it is rightthat I should dissipate it, absolutely right, when I feel so very, verysure. "

At this moment her father stirred in his sleep, and she distinctly heardthe words drop from his lips----

"I would make reparation. "

Before she had even time to take these words in, he had opened his eyesand was gazing at her. 

"You are better now, " she said, stooping down and kissing him. 

"Yes, my darling; much, much better. " He sat up as he spoke, and made aneffort to put on at least a show of life and vigor. "A man of my agefainting, Charlotte, is nothing, " he said; "really nothing whatever. Youmust not dwell on it again. "

"I will not, " she said. 

Her answer comforted him and he became really brighter and better. 

"It is nice to have you all to myself, my little girl; it is very nice. Not that I grudge you to Hinton; I have a great regard for Hinton; but, my darling, you and I have been so much to each other. We have never inall our lives had one quarrel. "

"Quarrel, father! of course not. How can those who love as we doquarrel?"

"Sometimes they do, Lottie. Thank God, such an experience cannot visityou; but it comes to some and darkens everything. I have known it. "

"You have, father?" In spite of herself, Charlotte felt her voicetrembling. 

"I had a great and terrible quarrel with my father, Charlotte; my fatherwho seemed once as close to me as your father is to you. He marriedagain, and the marriage displeased me, and such bitter words passedbetween us, that for years that old man and I did not speak. For years, the last years of his life, we were absolutely divided. We made it up inthe end; we were one again when he died; but what happened then hasembittered my whole life--my whole life. "

Charlotte was silent, though the color was coming into her cheeks andher heart began to beat. 

"And to-day, Lottie, " continued Mr. Harman, "to-day your uncle Jaspertold me about my father's little daughter. You have never heard of her;she was a baby-child when I saw her last. There were many complicationsafter my father's death; complications which you must take on trust, forI cannot explain them to you. They led to my never seeing that childagain. Lottie, though she was my little half-sister, she was quiteyoung, not older than you, and to-day Jasper told me about her. He knowswhere she lives; she is married and has children, and is poor. I couldnever, never bring myself to look on her face; but some day, not when Iam alive, but some day you may know her; I should like you to know hersome day, and to be kind to her. She has been hardly treated, into thattoo I cannot go; but I must set it right. I mean to give her money; youwill not be quite so rich; you won't mind that?"

"Mind it! mind it! Oh, father!" And Charlotte suddenly began to weep;she could not help that sudden, swift shower, though she struggled hardto repress it, seeing how her father trembled, and how each moment helooked more agitated. 

"Do you know, " she said, checking her sobs as soon as she possiblycould, "that Uncle Jasper, too, has told me that story; he asked me notto speak of it to you, for you would only be upset. He said how much youtook to heart, even still, that time when your father was angry withyou. "

"And I angry with him, Lottie; and I with him. Don't forget that. "

"Yes, dear father, he told me the tale. I longed to come to you withit, for it puzzled me, but he would not let me. Father, I, too, haveseen that little sister; she is not little now, she is tall andnoble-looking. She is a sweet and brave woman, and she has three of themost lovely children I ever saw; her children are like angels. Ah! Ishall be glad to help that woman and those children. I cannot thank youenough for doing this. "

"Don't thank me, child; in God's name don't thank me. "

"If you could but see those children. "

"I would not see them; I would not; I could not. Charlotte, you don'tknow what bygone memories are to an old man like me. I could never seeeither the mother or the children. Lottie, tell me nothing more aboutthem; if you love me never mention their names to me. They recall toomuch, and I am weak and old. I will help them; yes, before God I promiseto help them; but I can never either see or speak of them, they recalltoo much. "

CHAPTER XXVI. 

HAD HE SEEN A GHOST?

At this time Jasper Harman was a very perplexed man. Unlike his brotherJohn, he was untroubled by remorse. Though so outwardly good-temperedand good-natured, his old heart was very hard; and though the arrows ofpast sins and past injustices might fly around him, they could not visitthe inner shrine of that adamantine thing which he carried about insteadof a heart of flesh within him. 

What the painful process must be which would restore to Jasper Harmanthe warm living heart of a little child, one must shudder even tocontemplate. At present that process had not begun. But though he feltno remorse whatever, and stigmatized his brother as an old fool, he hadconsiderable anxiety. 

There was an ugly secret in the back parts of these two brothers' lives;a secret which had seemed all these years safe and buried in the grave, but over which now little lights were beginning to pour. How couldJasper plaster up the crevices and restore the thing to its silentgrave? Upon this problem he pondered from morning to night. 

He did not like that growing anxiety of his brother's; he could not tellto what mad act it would lead him; he did not like a new look of fearwhich, since her father's fainting fit, he had seen on Charlotte'ssmooth brow; he did not like Mrs. Home coming and boldly declaring thatan injustice had been done; he felt that between them these foolish andmiserable people would pull a disgraceful old secret out of its grave, unless he, Jasper Harman, could outwit them. What a blessing that thatother trustee was dead and buried, and that he, Jasper Harman, hadreally stood over his grave. Yes, the secret which he and his brotherhad guarded so faithfully for over twenty years might remain for everundiscovered if only common sense, the tiniest bit of common sense, wasexercised. Jasper paced his room as he thought of this. Yes, there couldbe no fear, unless--here he stood still, and a cold dew of sudden terrorstole over him--suppose that young woman, that wronged young woman, Charlotte Home, should take it into her head to go and read her father'swill. The will could not be put away. For the small sum of one shillingshe might go and master the contents, and then the whole fraud would belaid bare. Was it likely that Mrs. Home would do this? Jasper had onlyseen her for a moment, but during that brief glance he readdetermination and fixity of purpose in her eyes and mouth. He must trustthat this thought would not occur to her; but what a miserableuncertainty this was to live in! He did not know that the graver dangerlay still nearer home, and that his own niece Charlotte was alreadyputting the match to this mine full of gunpowder. No, clever as hethought himself, he was looking for the danger at the front door, whenit was approaching him by the back. 

After many days of most anxious thought he resolved to go and see theHomes, for something must be done, and he could feel his way better ifhe knew something of his opponents. 

Getting Mr. Home's address in the Post Office Directory, for he wouldnot betray himself by questioning Charlotte, he started off one eveningto walk to Kentish Town. He arrived in the dusk, and by good fortune orotherwise, as he liked best to term it, the curate was at home, and sofar disengaged as to be able to give him a little leisure time. 

Jasper sent in his card, and the little maid, Anne, showed him into thesmall parlor. There was a musty, unused smell in the dingy little room, for Mrs. Home was still at Torquay, and the curate during her absencemostly occupied his study. The maid, however, turned on the gas, and asshe did so a small girl of four slipped in behind her. She was a verypretty child, with gray eyes and black eyelashes, and she stared in thefull, frank manner of infancy at old Jasper. She was not a shy child, and felt so little fear of this good-natured, cherry-cheeked old man, that when Anne withdrew she still remained in the room. 

Jasper had a surface love for children; he would not take any troubleabout them, but they amused him, and he found pleasure in watching theirunsophisticated ways. His good-natured, smiling face appealed to acertain part of Daisy Home, not a very high part certainly, but with thecharming frankness of babyhood, the part appealed to gave utterance toits desire. 

"Have 'ou brought me a present?" she demanded, running up to old Jasperand laying her hand on his knee. 

"No, my dear, " he replied quickly. "I'm so sorry; I forgot it. "

"Did 'ou?" said Daisy, puckering her pretty brows; "Then 'ou're not likeour pretty lady; she did not forget; she brought lots and lots andlots. "

"I am very sorry, " replied Jasper; "I will think of it next time. " Andthen Mr. Home coming in, the two went into the little study. 

"I am your wife's half-brother, " said Jasper, introducing himselfwithout preface, for he had marked out his line of action before hecame. 

"Indeed!" replied Mr. Home. He was not a man easily surprised, but thisannouncement did bring a slight color into his face. "You are Mr. Harman, " he repeated. "I am sorry my wife is away. She is staying atTorquay with our eldest boy, who has been ill. She has seen yourdaughter. "

"Not my daughter, sir, my niece--a fine girl, but Quixotic, a littlefanciful and apt to take up whims, but a fine girl for all that. "

"I, too, have seen Miss Harman, " answered Mr. Home. "I met her once inRegent's Park, and, without knowing anything about us, she was good toour children. You must pardon me, sir, if in expressing the same opinionabout her we come to it by different roads. It seems to me that thefine traits in Miss Harman's character are _due_ to her Quixotic orunworldly spirit. "

For a moment Jasper Harman felt puzzled, then he chuckled inwardly. "Theman who says that, is unworldly himself, therefore unpractical. So muchthe better for my purpose. " Aloud he said, "Doubtless you put the casebest, sir; but I will not take up your valuable time discussing myniece's virtues. I have come to talk to you on a little matter ofbusiness. Your wife has told you her story?"

"My wife has certainly concealed nothing from me, " replied Mr. Home. 

"She has mentioned her father's very curious will?"

"His very unjust will, " corrected Mr. Home. 

"Yes, sir, I agree with you, it was unjust. It is to talk to you aboutthat will I have come to you to-night. "

"Sit nearer to the fire, " replied Mr. Home, poking up the handful in thegrate into as cheerful a blaze as circumstances would permit. 

"It was, as you say, an unjust will, " proceeded old Jasper, peering hardwith his short-sighted eyes at the curate, and trying to read someemotion beneath his very grave exterior. Being unable to fathom thedepths of a character which was absolutely above the love of money, hefelt perplexed, he scarcely liked this great self-possession. Did thisHome know too much? "It was an unjust will, " he repeated, "and took mybrother and myself considerably by surprise. Our father seemed fond ofhis young wife, and we fully expected that he would leave her and herchild well provided for. However, my dear sir, the facts could not bedisputed. Her name was not mentioned at all. The entire property wasleft principally to my elder brother John. He and I were partners inbusiness. Our father's money was convenient, and enabled us to growrich. At the time our father died we were very struggling. Perhaps thefact that the money was so necessary to us just then made us think lessof the widow than we should otherwise have done. We did not, however, forget her. We made provision for her during her life. But for us shemust have starved or earned her own living. "

"The allowance you made was not very ample, " replied Mr. Home, "and suchas it was it ceased at her death. "

"Yes, sir; and there I own we--my brother and I--were guilty of an actof injustice. I can only exonerate us on the plea of want of thought. Our father's widow was a young woman--younger than either of us. Thechild was but a baby. The widow's death seemed a very far offcontingency. We placed the money we had agreed to allow her the intereston, in the hands of our solicitor. We absolutely forgot the matter. Iwent to Australia, my brother grew old at home. When, five or six yearsago, we heard that Mrs. Harman was dead, and that our three thousandpounds could return to us, we had absolutely forgotten the child. Inthis I own we showed sad neglect. Your wife's visit to my niece, througha mere accident, has recalled her to our memory, and I come hereto-night to say that we are willing, willing and anxious, to repay thatneglect, and to settle on your wife the sum of three thousand pounds;that sum to be hers unconditionally, to do what she pleases with. "

When Jasper ceased to speak, Mr. Home was quite silent for a moment, then he said, "My wife is away at present. I would rather not troubleher with money matters during her short holiday. When she returns I willtell her what you say and communicate to you the result. "

There was neither exultation nor annoyance in the quiet manner in whichthese few words were spoken. Uncle Jasper found it impossible tounderstand this man. He spoke as indifferently as if three thousandpounds were nothing to him and yet, to judge from appearances, his wholeyearly income seemed hardly to represent the interest on so muchcapital. Did this quiet manner but hide deep designs? Jasper Harmanfidgeted in his chair as this thought occurred to him. 

"There is just one thing more to add, " he said. "I will leave you myclub address. Kindly communicate with me there. I should like, whilecarrying out my elder brother's wish, to act entirely on it withouttroubling him in any way. He is, I am sorry to say, very ill, so illthat the least, the very least, agitation is dangerous to him. He feelswith me the unintentional injustice done to your wife, but he cannotbear the subject alluded to. 

"Would it not rather be an ease to his mind to feel that what he lookson and perhaps dwells on as a sin has been expiated, as far as his ownearthly act can expiate it?" inquired the clergyman gently. 

"He shall know it, but from my lips. I should like him best to hear itfrom me, " said Jasper Harman. 

A few moments after, he went away, Mr. Home accompanying him to the halldoor. The strong light of the gas lamp fell on his ruddy face and sandyhair. He bade his host good-bye, and hurried down the street, neverobserving that a man, much larger and much rougher than himself, wasbearing down upon him. It was raining, and the large man had an umbrellaup. The two came full tilt against each other. Jasper felt his breathtaken away, and could only gasp out a word of remonstrance and apology. 

But the other, in a full, round, cheery voice, replied, "I'm home fromthe Colonies, stranger--you need not mention a tiff like that to _me_. Bless you! I guess you got the worst of it. "

He passed on with a laugh, never noticing that he had left Jasperstanding in the middle of the road, gasping indeed now, but from adifferent cause. He put his hand to his heart. He felt his breath cometoo fast for comfort. What had come to him? Had he seen a ghost?

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE CHILDREN'S GREAT-UNCLE. 

It was a few days after this that, the morning being very bright andsunshiny, the little maid, Anne, determined to give Daisy and the baby along morning in the park. Mrs. Home was expected back in a few days. Harold was very much better, and Anne, being a faithful and lovinglittle soul, was extremely anxious that Daisy and the baby should showas rosy faces as possible to greet their mother's return. Hinton, whostill occupied the drawing-rooms, was absent as usual for the day. Mr. Home would not come in until tea time. So Anne, putting some dinner forthe children and herself, in the back of the perambulator, and the houselatch-key in her pocket, started off to have what she called to Daisy, a"picnic in the park. "

The baby was now nearly ten months old. His beauty had increased withhis growing months, and many people turned to look at the lovely littlefellow as Anne gayly wheeled him along. He had a great deal of hair, which showed in soft golden rings under his cap, and his eyes, large andgentle as a gazelle's, looked calmly out of his innocent face. Daisy, too, was quite pretty enough to come in for her share of admiration, and Anne felt proud of both her little charges. 

Reaching the park, she wheeled the perambulator under the shade of agreat tree, and sitting down herself on a bench, took little Angus inher arms. Daisy scampered about and inquired when her namesakes, thestarry daisies of the field, would be there for her to gather. 

As the little child played and shouted with delight, and the baby andsmall maid looked on, a stout, florid-faced man of foreign appearance, passing slowly by, was attracted by the picturesque group. Daisy hadflung off her shabby little hat. Her bright hair was in wild confusion. Her gray eyes looked black beneath their dark lashes. Running full tiltacross the stranger's path, she suddenly stumbled and fell. He stoopedto pick her up. She hardly thanked him, but flew back to Anne. Theforeign-looking man, however, stood still. Daisy's piquant little facehad caused him to start and change color. 

"Good gracious! what a likeness, " he exclaimed, and he turned and satdown on the bench beside Anne and the baby. 

"I hope the little thing didn't get hurt by that fall, " he said to thesmall maid. 

Anne, who was accustomed to having all admiration bestowed on her baby, replied briefly that missy was right enough. As she spoke she turnedbaby Angus round so that the stranger might see his radiant little face. The dark eyes, however, of the pretty boy had no attraction for the man. He still watched Daisy, who had resumed her amusements at a littledistance. 

Anne, who perceived that Daisy had attracted the stranger's admiration, was determined to stay to watch the play out. She pretended to amuselittle Angus, but her eyes took furtive glances at the foreign-lookingman. Presently Daisy, who was not at all shy, came up. 

"You never thanked me for picking you up from the ground, " said thestranger to the little girl. 

Four year old Daisy turned up her eyes to his face. 

"I wor _so_ busy, " she apologized. "T'ank 'ou now. "

The light on her face, her very expression, caused this rough-lookingman's heart to beat strangely. He held out his hand. Daisy put her softlittle palm into his. 

"Come and sit on my knee, " he said. 

Daisy accepted the invitation with alacrity. She dearly likedattention, and it was not often, with baby by, that she came in for thelion's share. 

"What a funny red beard you have!" she said, putting up a small fingerto touch it delicately. 

This action, however, scandalized Anne, who, awaking to a sudden senseof her responsibilities, rose to depart. 

"Come along, Miss Daisy, " she exclaimed; "'tis time we was a-movinghome, and you mustn't trouble the gentleman no further, missy. "

"I s'ant go home, and I will stay, " responded Daisy, her face growingvery red as she clung to her new friend. The man put his arm round herin delight. 

"Sit down, my girl, " he said, addressing Anne, "the little miss is nottroubling me. Quite the contrary, she reminds me of a little lassie Iused to know once, and she had the same name too, Daisy. Daisy Wilsonwas her name. Now this little kid is so like her that I shouldn't a bitwonder if she was a relation--perhaps her daughter. Shall I tell youwhat your two names are, little one?"

Daisy nodded her head and looked up expectantly. Anne, hoping no harmwas done, and devoured with curiosity, resumed her seat. 

"Your mamma's name was Daisy Wilson. You are her dear little daughter, and your name is Daisy Harman. Well, I'm right, ain't I?" The man's facewas now crimson, and he only waited for Daisy's reply to clasp her tohis breast. But Daisy, in high delight at his mistake, clapped herpretty hands. 

"No, no, " she said, "you're quite wrong. Guess again, guess again. "

Instantly his interest and excitement died out. He pushed the child atrifle away, and said, --

"I made a mistake. I can't guess. "

"I'm Daisy Home, " replied Daisy, "and my mamma was never no DaisyWilson. Her name is Sarlotte Home. "

The stranger put Daisy gently from his lap, and the discovery which wasto affect so many people might never have been made but for Anne, whoread the _Family Herald_, was burning with anxiety and wonder. Manykinds of visions were flashing before her romantic young eyes. This manmight be very rich--very, very rich. He must have something to say tothem all. She had long ago identified herself with the Home family. Thisman was coming to give them gold in abundance. He was not so beautifulto look at, but he might be just as valuable as the pretty lady ofHarold's dreams. That pretty lady had not come back, though Anne hadalmost prayed for her return. Yes, she was sure this man was a relation. It was highly probable. Such things were always happening in the _FamilyHerald_. Raising her shrill, high-pitched voice, she exclaimed, --

"Miss Daisy, you're too young to know, or may be you furgets. But Ithink the gen'leman is near right. Yer mamma's name wos Harman afore shemarried yer papa, missy, and I ha' seen fur sure and certain in some oldbooks at the house the name o' Daisy Wilson writ down as plain as couldbe, so maybe that wor yer grandma's name afore she married too. "

At these words the stranger caught Daisy up and kissed her. 

"I thought that little face could only belong to one related to DaisyWilson, " he said. "Little one, put yer arms round me. I'm yourgreat-uncle--your great-uncle! I never thought that Daisy Wilson couldhave a daughter married, and that that daughter could have little onesof her own. Well, well, well, how time does fly! I'm your grandmother'sbrother--Sandy Wilson, home from Australia, my little pet; and whenshall I see you all? It does my old heart good to see my sister overagain in a little thing like you. "

"My great-uncle?" repeated Daisy. She was an affectionate little thing, and the man's agitation and delight so far touched her baby heart as toinduce her to give him one very slight, dainty kiss. Then she sidleddown to the ground. 

"Ef you please, sir, " said Anne again, who felt absolutely certain thatshe had now made the fortune of her family, and who thought that thatfact ought to be recognised--"ef you please, sir, 'tis but right as youshould know as my missis's mother have long bin dead. My missis as isher living model is away, and won't be back afore Thursday. She's downby the seaside wid Master Harold wot' ad the scarlet fever, and wor liketo die; and the fam'ly address, please sir, is 10, Tremins Road, KentishTown. "

At the news of his sister's death so curtly announced by Anne, the man'srough, weatherbeaten face grew white. He did not touch Daisy again, oreven look at little Angus; but going up to Anne, he slipped a sovereigninto her hand. 

"Take those children safely home now, " he said; "the day is turningchilly, and--and--thank you for what you told me of, my good lass. I'llcome and see your missis on Thursday night. "

Then, without another word, he hurried away. 

Quickly this big, rough man, who had nearly knocked down Jasper Harmanthe night before, hurried through the park. The exultation had died outof his face; his heart had ceased to beat wildly. Little Daisy's prettyfigure was still before his eyes; but, weatherbeaten and lifebeaten manthat he was, he found himself looking at it through a mist of tears. "'Tis a bit of a shock, " he said to himself. "I'll take it quietly, ofcourse. Sandy Wilson learned long ago to take everything quietly; butit's a rare bit of a shock. I never guessed as my little Daisy woulddie. Five and twenty years since we met, and all that time I've neveronce clasped the hand of a blood-relation--never had one belonging tome. I thought I was coming back to Daisy, and Daisy has died. She wasvery young to die--quite five years younger than me. A pretty, prettylass; the little 'un is her image. How odd I should have knocked upagainst Daisy's grandchild, and should find her out by the likeness. Well, well, I'll call at 10, Tremins Road. I'll call, of course; notthat I care much now, as my little sister Daisy Wilson is dead. "

He pressed his hand before his eyes; they felt weak and dim. The roughman had got a considerable shock; he did not care to look at Londonsights again to-day; he returned to the Commercial Hotel in the Strand, where for the present he was staying. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

CUT OFF WITH A SHILLING. 

Never was a little maid-of-all-work more excited than Anne on the nighton which her mistress was expected home from Torquay. A secret--quite agreat secret--had been burning a hole in her heart ever since Monday, and to-night she expected this secret to result in something grand. Annefelt that the days of poverty for the family were over; the days forscraping and toiling were at an end. The uncle from Australia wouldgive her missis everything that money could buy; he must be a very richman indeed, for had he not given her a sovereign? Whoever before hadeven dreamed of giving little hard-worked Anne a sovereign? It meantunheard-of wealth to this childish soul of sixteen; it filled her withdelight, and, carefully put away in a little gingham bag, it lay goldenand warm now against her heart. 

But Anne's honest little heart had another and less selfish cause forrejoicing. It was she who was bringing this uncle and niece to meetagain; but for her prompt interference Daisy and her great-uncle wouldnever have discovered their relationship; but for her the uncle, soblessed with riches, would not have known where to seek for his niece. In a big place like London was it likely, was it at all likely, thatthey would meet? No, no, he would look for his poor dead sister for alittle while, and then go back to Australia, and perhaps give his moneyto some one else. Anne felt that the family owed her a great deal; butshe had full confidence in them, and felt sure that in their rise inlife they would not forget her. Missis could keep plenty of servantsnow; she would have a cook and a housemaid, and probably some one tohelp in the nursery. This was what a family whom Anne thought immenselywealthy, did in a house just round the corner. In that case she, Anne, would be promoted to the proud position of head nurse--head nurse withwages--well, say wages as high as £13 a year. Even to think of beingraised to so dazzling a height made Anne's head a trifle giddy. On thestrength of it, and all the riches in prospect, she became quitereckless in preparing missis's tea. She put out the best table-linen, and all the silver the house possessed, and she filled a great dish withwater-cresses, and had hot buttered scones and a seed-cake andeggs--rather fresh for London--and finally half a pound of sliced ham. 

She was standing contemplating her well-laden board when the cab droveup, and out stepped her master and mistress and little Harold--Haroldlooking white and thin even yet, but still with an altogether improvedexpression on his little face. Anne was so excited, knowing all that wasto come, that she caught Harold up in her arms and kissed him, whichproceeding he bore with more patience than appreciation. Then ensuedbustle and confusion and pleasant excitement. Charlotte Home felt sowell and rested from her change, her husband was so delighted to haveher back, and little Harold was so manifestly better, that Anne flewabout nearly wild with delight. "They'll be a deal, deal 'appierby-and-by, and 'tis hall 'long of HAnne, " she kept whispering toherself. 

And now, tea being over, and Harold tucked up comfortably once more inhis own little cot in the nursery, the small maid began to be devouredwith impatience for the expected ring. It came at last; Anne with herown hands unfastened the door, showed the rich uncle into thedining-room, and danced upstairs to find her mistress. Charlotte Homewas unpacking a trunk in her own room. 

"What do you say, Anne? A gentleman is downstairs, and wants to see me?But I am so dreadfully busy. What does he want? Do you think he has comeabout the drawing-rooms? They will be vacant next week. "

"I don't think 'tis about the drawing-rooms, 'em, " answered Anne asdemurely as she could speak. "I 'avent put no card hup yet. Please, 'em, he looks a most benevolent gen'leman, and he axed fur you, yer hownself, 'em, most partic'lar bad. "

"I wish he had not come this evening, everything is in such confusion. Anne, are you sure your master is out?"

"Yes, 'em, sure and certain; and ef you please, 'em, it wor fur you asthe strange gen'leman axed. "

"Well, I suppose I must go down. He may have heard of the drawing-roomsthrough Mr. Hinton, and it would not do to lose a good lodger. "

Charlotte went to the looking-glass to smooth her hair. She felttravel-stained and dusty; she was only a worn, pale-looking woman at thebest of times. She ran downstairs, and Anne's heart beat as she heardthe dining-room door shut behind her. 

Mr. Wilson--Sandy Wilson as he preferred to be called--had got himselfup with due care for his interview with his niece. He had a perfectlynew and shining broadcloth suit on, a diamond pin was in his necktie, and a very massive gold chain could be seen dangling from his vestpocket. His full face, always florid, was now flushed with extra colorfrom agitation. Yes, Daisy might be dead, but the next best thing was tosee Daisy's child. When the door opened he came forward eagerly, withoutstretched hands. A pale, slight, cold-looking woman had come in. Hedrew back in dismay. She showed but too plainly by one swift glance thatshe thought him a stranger, and a vulgar one. He owned to himself thathe looked at her with a kind of shock. This Daisy Wilson's Daughter?This pale, dark, thin woman the child of that little, bright, curly-locked, golden-headed sister, whose face was as the sun, whosegay, rounded figure he had seen flitting before his eyes during all theweary years of his exile? It could scarcely be possible. Perhaps it wasnot possible?

"I have come to see Mrs. Home, " he began. 

"And I am Mrs. Home, " answered the distinct, quiet voice. 

No, there was no hope; his Daisy's daughter was not in the least likeher. Well, she was at least her child. He must take what comfort hecould out of the relationship without the likeness. 

"You are Daisy's Wilson's child?" he said, and now again his hands wereoutstretched, and the smiles had returned to his face. 

But Mrs. Home, completely in the dark, rather startled than otherwise, made no gesture of welcome. Her hands were not held out, her lipsremained unsmiling. 

"My mother's name was Wilson, " she admitted. "Yes, it was Daisy Wilson. I did not recognize it at first, as of course she was never called it tome. "

"Ay, ay, likely enough; but she was never anything else to me, justalways little bright Daisy Wilson. I thought I'd find her before me, something as she used to be, a bit stoutened, perhaps, but not greatlyaltered. I have pictured her for the last six and twenty years just as Isaw her last the bonniest bit of a thing the sun ever shone on. "

"You knew my mother then?" said Charlotte. 

"Knew her, lass, knew her! good heavens, what next? Did Daisy neverspeak to you about me? I don't believe it. Before I left it was 'Sandy, Sandy, ' from morning to night. It was not in her to forget. Tell me, lass, did you never hear of your mother's big brother, Sandy Wilson whowent to Australia?"

Charlotte's eyes began to dilate. 

"My mother often spoke of this brother, " she said slowly. "My motherwould have liked to have met you, had you known him. She never frettedfor any one so much, except when my father died. My mother's brother isdead for many, many years. They are together now. "

"In spirit, lass, in spirit, I doubt not, but not otherwise. Why, is itpossible you don't know me? Aren't you prepared? Did not your littlelass tell you? I am your mother's brother, I am alive, as you see; I amSandy Wilson. "

"You!" Charlotte looked at him half incredulous, half pained; but then asudden joy came over her, she forgot the vulgarity in the love for herdead mother which still shone out of those honest blue eyes. She glancedup again; those eyes were her mother's eyes; instantly they acted asopen sesame to her heart. She held out her own hands now and her eyesfilled with tears. "Forgive me, Uncle Sandy; if you are indeed he. I didnot know you, I could not know you; I have believed you dead for many, many years. But you have a look of my mother. She would welcome youto-night, so I must in her name. "

"Will you kiss me in her name, my lassie? Ah! that's good; 'tis longsince I kissed one of my own. Yes, I've come back. I never did die, yousee, though I knew that the report had reached England. I let it be, Idid not trouble to contradict it. "

"But it was wrong of you, Uncle Sandy. You said you loved my mother, andthat report of your death gave her terrible pain. "

"I am sorry for it, lass; I never guessed about the pain, though I mighthave thought of it, sweet soul; but I knew she was married to a veryrich man. I was poor, so poor as to know what hunger meant, I thoughtshe could do without me. I went up into the bush and stayed there untilI had made my fortune. After a time I got accustomed to knowing thatevery one in England would think me dead. I used to laugh in my sleeveat the surprise I meant to give Daisy when I walked in rich some day. Well, well, what an old fool I made of myself! I never once thought of_her_ dying. She is dead, and I am left; there's no one to welcome meback, after all. "

"She has been dead for over six years now; but come to the fire, uncle. I welcome you in my mother's name, and my children will love you. Nowyou must sit there and I will ring for Anne to bring in some tea. "

After this the uncle and niece talked together for some time. Annebrought in the tea, and looked at them with eyes rendered round andlarge from excitement. They both nodded to her, for both felt pleased. Uncle Sandy had discovered that his niece had a voice like her mother, if not a face. It was delicious to him to sit so close to his own fleshand blood, and Charlotte, who had heard of Uncle Sandy during all herearly days, who had seen her mother's eyes filling with tears when shementioned him, felt now that for her mother's sake she could not makeenough of this newly recovered relation. His rough, honest, kindlynature was finding its way too, very straight, to her heart. There wasnothing innately common or vulgar about Uncle Sandy. Charlotte was akeen observer of character, and she detected the ring of the true metalwithin. 

"To think I should have mistaken my uncle for some one going to seeafter the drawing-rooms!" she said after a pause. 

"Ay, lass, you looked fairly dazed when I came up with my hand stretchedout, hoping for a kiss, " he said; "but no wonder: I never reckoned thatthat little maid-servant of yours would have told you nothing--nothingwhatever. But what is that about drawing-rooms? You don't mean to tellme that you, Daisy Wilson's child, let lodgings?"

The color flew into Charlotte's pale, proud face. 

"We do not need all the room in this house, so I generally have some onein the drawing-room, " she answered--"the drawing-room and the bedroombeyond. "

"Are your rooms free now, Charlotte?"

"No; but in a week they will be. "

"Suppose you let the old uncle have them? I will pay any rent you liketo ask. The fact is, I have lost my whole heart to that little Daisy ofyours. I want to be near the child. I won't spoil her more than I canhelp. "

"Then I _was_ called down to my drawing-room lodger, " answered Charlottewith a faint sweet smile. 

"Yes, and I don't expect he will want to leave in a hurry. The fact is Ihave been so utterly friendless and homeless for such a number of years, that it is _nearly_ as good as finding Daisy to be with her child. But, my dear lass, you will forgive a frank old man asking you a frankquestion. It's all moonshine about the house being too big for you. These houses are not so very monstrous, to judge by the looks of them. You have three children, so you tell me; if you let two rooms you mustbe a bit crippled, put as good a face on it as you will. "

"We also want the money. The want of the help this brings in, in thematter of rent, is our true reason for letting, " replied Charlotte. "Yousee, Uncle Sandy, my husband is a clergyman--a clergyman and curate. Such men are never over-burdened with money. "

Sandy Wilson had small, penetrating, but very bright blue eyes; theywere fixed now earnestly on his niece. He took a glance round the littleparlor where they sat. He was an old Australian, accustomed to bushlife, but even he noticed how threadbare was the carpet, how poor andmeagre the window curtains. Charlotte herself, too, how thin and wornshe was! Could those pale and hollow cheeks mean insufficient food?

"How old are you, niece Charlotte?" he suddenly demanded. 

"I was twenty-five my last birthday. "

"Forgive me, my lass, you look very old for that; I should have takenyou for thirty. The fact is you are poor, nothing ages like poverty. Andthe greater fact remains that it was full time for old Uncle Sandy tocome home and prove himself of some use in the world. "

"We are poor, " answered Charlotte; "we certainly are very poor. Butpoverty is not the greatest of troubles. "

"No, but it puzzles me why you should be poor. When I left my littlesister, she had been married about three months to that rich old Mr. Harman. He seemed devoted to her. He had surrounded her with wealth; andhe assured me when I came to bid her good-bye, and she put her dear armsround my neck, that my little darling should never want for anything. Hewas a good old man, ages too old of course for my bright little Daisy. But it seemed better than leaving her as a governess. It was my onecomfort when parting with Daisy, to feel that she could never want foranything that money could get her. "

"My mother has told me that during my father's life she lived as a richwoman, " answered Charlotte. 

"That means she did not afterwards. Did the old gentleman die bankrupt?I don't see how he could, for he had retired from business. "

"No, my father died a very wealthy man. "

"Then he did not leave her well off! You don't surely mean to tell me, Charlotte Home, that that old man dared to do anything but leave a largesum of money to your pretty young mother and to you? Why, be told mewith his own lips that he would make most ample provision for her. "

At these words Charlotte's white face grew yet whiter, and a piteouslook of terror came into her eyes, but all she said was, --

"Nevertheless, after my father's death we were poor. "

"Oh! the scoundrel! 'Tis well he's out of Sandy Wilson's power. To thinkof my Daisy not profiting by his wealth at least. How much did he leaveto your mother, Charlotte?

"Nothing. "

"Nothing!" Here Uncle Sandy sprang to his feet. "Mr. Harman left myDaisy nothing--nothing whatever! Then he did die bankrupt?"

"No, Uncle Sandy, he died rich. "

"And her name was not mentioned in the will?"

"No. "

"Ah! there was a will. Have you seen it?"

"No; why should I? It all happened long, long ago. "

"And your mother never saw the will?"

"I don't think she did. "

"Then to whom, may I ask, did he leave all his wealth?"

"You forget, Uncle Sandy, that my father was married before. He had twosons by his first marriage. These sons came in for his fortune. Theywere--they said they were, sorry for my mother, and they settled on herone hundred and fifty pounds a year for her life. "

"Ay, I suppose you have got that pittance now?"

"No, it was only for my mother. When she died six years ago it ceased. "

Sandy Wilson began to pace up and down the little parlor. 

"Nothing left to Daisy. Daisy's name not mentioned in the will. Brotherssorry--pretend to be. Give my Daisy a pittance for her life--nothing tothe child. Charlotte, " he suddenly stopped in front of his niece, "don'tyou think you are a good bit of a fool?"

"Perhaps I am, Uncle Sandy. But I never recognized the fact before. "

"You believe that story about the will?"

"I tell you the tale as my own mother told it to me. "

"Ay, Daisy was always too credulous, a foolish little thing, if youlike. But you--you are of different metal. You believe that story?"

"I--I--Don't ask me, Uncle Sandy. "

"You do not believe it?"

"If you will have it so, I do not believe it. "

"Ay, my lass, shake hands on that. You are not a fool. Oh! it was fulltime Sandy Wilson came home. Sandy can see to your rights, late as it isin the day. "

Mrs. Home was silent. The old Australian was stamping his feet on thehearthrug. His face was now crimson from excitement and anger. 

"Charlotte, " he repeated, "why don't you speak to me? I have come backto see to your rights. Do you hear me, niece?"

Charlotte put her hand into his. 

"Thank you, Uncle Sandy. " Then she added, "You can do nothing. I meanyou can take no legal steps without my knowledge and sanction. "

"Well, it is not likely you will withhold your sanction from gettingback what is your own. Charlotte, where are these half-brothers ofyours? Why, they were a good bit older than Daisy. They must be old mennow. Where are they, Charlotte? Are they alive?"

"They are alive. I will tell you about them to-morrow. I want to thinkto-night. "

"And so do I want to think. I will run away now, my dear niece. I amstaggered by this tale, perfectly staggered. I will look in to-morrowevening, and you shall tell me more. Ay, I guess they never reckonedthat Sandy Wilson would turn up. They thought with the rest of you thatold Sandy--sharp old Sandy was safe in his grave, and they said tothemselves that dead men tell no tales. If I remember aright, yourfather told me I should be one of the trustees to my sister. He _did_mention it; though, just like me, I never thought of it until thisminute. Is it likely that he would speak of trustees if he meant to cutoff that poor darling with a shilling? Oh! it's preposterous, preposterous. But I'll sleep over it. We'll think how best to expose thevillains!"

"Uncle Sandy, you will promise me one thing: you will do nothing untilyou see me again?"

"Well, child, I can scarcely do much. I don't want to be long away fromyou, niece Charlotte. I'll look in to-morrow, about six o'clock. Seethat little Daisy is up, and introduce me to your husband. Oh! it wasplain to be seen that Sandy Wilson was wanting in this country. Bless myold heart, what a Providence is over everything! Oh, the scoundrels! ButSandy will expose them. My Daisy cut off with a shilling!"

CHAPTER XXIX. 

"SOMETHING BETTER FOR THE CHILDREN THAN MONEY. "

After her newly found uncle had left her, Charlotte Home sat on by thefire; her face was very pale; she looked a quite broken-down andtroubled woman. Little Anne, almost on tiptoe, crept into the room. Shewas all quivering with excitement. She expected her mistress to turn toher--almost to fling her arms around her neck--to thank her with thewarmest expressions for what she had done. 

"Anne, " rehearsed the little maid, imagining Charlotte's words, "youhave saved us all; you are our lifelong benefactor. Henceforth partakeof our wealth. Be not only our servant, but our friend. "

This was how matters would have been managed in the _Family Herald_. Anne raised expectant eyes to her mistress's face, but one glance at itscattered her golden visions. She softly lifted up the tea-tray andwithdrew. Her faith and hope had gone down to zero. She was a verydispirited little girl as she returned to her kitchen. That uncle fromAustralia was not a rich uncle. Missis would never look so miserable ifhe was rich. As a poor relation he was no use whatever; and Anne haddone nothing for the family she loved. Oh, how _very_ disappointing lifewas after all!

Meanwhile what now troubled Charlotte Home had very little to do withUncle Sandy's possible gold. She was solving another problem, and thetask was a difficult one. 

For the past month Charlotte had been making up her mind to a certainline of action. Before she left Torquay her resolution was formed. Shehad been over four weeks there, and during those four weeks she and herboy had lived on Charlotte Harman's money. That money had saved the lifeof her child. When she first saw it and thanked for it, and eachsucceeding day, each succeeding hour, as she saw the color which washealth, and the appetite which was life, returning to her darling, theconviction was growing upon her, that her hand could never inflict ablow upon the woman who had done so much for her. Her children wantedmoney, and her husband wanted money, and she herself too! A little dipinto this world's softnesses, she owned, would be very pleasant; but, for all that, her hand must be still; her lips could not speak to causepain and agony to one who had done so much for her. Miss Harman wasgoing to be married. Was it possible that on the eve of her marriageshe, Charlotte Home, could deal to her so cruel a blow? No, it was notpossible. For Charlotte's sake, her father and uncle might keep theirill-gotten wealth. Mrs. Home believed more and more firmly that she andhers were robbed of their money. But now she could do nothing. She hadbeen so treated by her enemy's daughter that to appear against thatdaughter's father would be impossible. As this conviction came to her, and she resolved to act upon it, and to let all chance of recovering herlost wealth go, a wonderful peace and calm stole over her. She almostused to fancy she heard the voice of God saying to her, --

"I will provide for your children, I can give them riches. There arebetter things to be won for those little ones than what money can give. There is such a thing as a heavy purse and a poor and empty heart. Suppose I fill those hearts with goodness, and greatness, andgenerosity, and love; is not that a better portion for these creatureswho are to live for all eternity than the gold which lasts only for atime?"

Yes, Charlotte felt that it was a better portion. And such peace andcontentment came to this woman during the last week at Torquay that shethought it the happiest week of her whole life. But now--now she sat byher own hearth in troubled maze. She had come back to find her resolvesorely shaken. With no one to help her, she had resolved to let herchance of riches go. She came back to find an unexpected deliverer cometo her. A strong, brave, practical man had appeared. This man was herown uncle--her beloved mother's brother. He knew how to act. While shealone must stumble in the dark, he would know what to do. He would--hecould get her back her own. It seemed hard to reject such help; and yether resolve was scarcely shaken, and the temptation, though severe, wasnot allowed to prevail. The voice of God was still talking to the woman, and she was not turning from Him. 

Since the life of her child had been given back to her, a great softnessand sweetness had come to Mrs. Home; she had tasted of a mother'sbitterest cup, but God had not asked her to drink it to the dregs. Herdark eyes, always beautiful, had now grown very lovely, being filledwith a tenderness which not only took in her own child, but, for hissake, all the other children in the world. 

Yes, Charlotte loved God as she had never loved Him before, and it wasbecoming impossible for her to do that which might pain Him. After atime her husband came in, and the two sat and talked for some time. Theyhad a great deal to say, and the hours flew on as each poured out a fullheart to the other. 

After a time Charlotte told of her visit from the uncle whom she hadsupposed for so many years to be dead. Mr. Home was interested, andasked many questions. Charlotte repeated, almost word for word, whatUncle Sandy had said. Her husband regarded her attentively. After a timehe spoke. 

"Lottie, you remember when first you told me that queer story about yourfather's will?"

"Yes, " she said. 

"I own I did not believe it; I own I thought very little about it. I askyour pardon, my dear. I now believe you are right. "

"Oh, Angus!" a great flood of color came up to her face. "Oh! why, " sheadded in a voice of pain, "why do you say this to me now?"

"Partly from what your uncle said to-night; partly for another reason. The fact is, my dear wife, while you were away I had a visit from yourhalf-brother, Mr. Jasper Harman. ". 

"Angus!"

"Yes, he came here one evening. He told a tale, and he made aproposition. His tale was a lame one; his proposition scarcely came wellfrom his lips. He evidently thought of me as of one unworldly andunpractical. I believe I am unpractical, but he never guessed that in mycapacity as clergyman I have had much to do with sinners. This man has aconscience by no means void of offence. He is hardened. Charlotte, whenI saw him, I instantly believed your story. "

Mr. Home then told his wife the whole of his interview with JasperHarman, and the proposal he had made to settle on Charlotte and on herchildren the three thousand pounds which had been her mother's for thatmother's lifetime. 

"I gave him no answer, my Lottie, " he said in conclusion. "I told himyou were away--that I would tell you all on your return. "

"Then the decision is to rest with me, Angus?"

"Yes, I think it must. "

"You do not mind whether I decline or accept?"

"I trust you absolutely. You shall do as you think best. "

After this Mrs. Home was silent for a moment or two; then she got up, went on her knees by her husband's side, and laying her head against hisbreast, said, --

"We will be poor, my darling--poor and blessed. I will not touch theirgold. "

"My Lottie!" he answered. He did not quite understand her, but his heartbegan to beat. 

"I will tell you all in a few words, Angus. I longed for money--be myreason base or noble, I longed for money. A month ago how sorely weneeded it! God saw our need and sent it to us. He sent it through achannel and by a means which tried my proud heart. I accepted thegracious boon, and, when I accepted it, instantly I loved the giver; Iloved--I love Charlotte Harman. She is innocent of all wrong. Angus, Icannot disturb her peace. My uncle has come home. My uncle, with hisknowledge and his worldly skill, could now win my cause for me, and getback for me and mine what is ours. I will not let him. These old men maykeep their ill-gotten wealth, for I cannot break the daughter's heart. Imade my resolve at Torquay, Angus; and, though I own I have been temptedto-night--yes, I believe I have been tempted--still I must let thismoney go. I will leave those wicked men to God; but I cannot take theirpunishment into my own hands. And, Angus, dearest, neither can I takethat small sum of money; for, though I cannot prosecute, neither can Iaccept a bribe. This money comes as a bribe. Is it not so?"

"Yes, Lottie, I fear it is so. "

"I am right not to take it?"

"You are absolutely right. "

"Then we will not touch it. I and mine can live without it. "

"You and yours can live well and nobly without it, my most preciouswife. "

"Ah! there is rest and peace in my heart; and the little house, thoughso poor and shabby, seems very home-like. Angus, I am so tired after allthis! I will go to bed. "

Long after his wife had left him, the husband remained up. He had gonedown on his knees, and he remained there for some hours. He had to thankGod for his Charlotte, but even while he thanked a weight was heavy onhis heart. Sin was very terrible to this man, and he feared that a verygrievous sin had been committed. Long, long, into the night he cried toGod for these sinners. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

SHE COULD NOT POSTPONE HER ENGAGEMENT. 

Mr. Harman felt himself growing weaker and weaker. The disease which wasto lay him in his grave was making slow, but steady progress. It wasjust possible that, had his mind been at rest, the weakness of body, thepain of body, the slow decay might have been, not removed, but at leastarrested. Had Mr. Harman been a very happy man, he might have lived, even with so fatal a malady, for many years. He had lived a life ofalmost perfect physical health for over sixty years, and during all thattime he had been able to keep mental pains at bay; but in his presentweakness he found this impossible. His whole nervous system becameaffected, and it was apparent even to his daughter's eyes, that he was avery unhappy man. For her sake, however, he still did wonders. Hedragged himself up to breakfast morning after morning, when he wouldhave given worlds to remain in bed. He still went every day to hisoffice in the city, though, when there, he sat in his office chair dulland unmindful of what was going on. Jasper did the work. Jasper washere, there, and everywhere; but it had come to such a pass with JohnHarman, that he now almost disliked gold. Still, for Charlotte's sake, he went there. Charlotte on the verge of her marriage must suspectnothing. In the evenings he sat with his daughter, he looked withapparent interest at the many presents which came pouring in, he madeher show herself to him in each of the new dresses, and he even wenthimself with her to choose her wedding wreath and veil. But all thesethings had become such a weariness to the man that, dearly as he lovedthis one precious daughter, he began to look forward with almost a senseof relief to the one week of her absence. During that week he needdisguise nothing, he need not go to the office, he need not put on thisforced cheerfulness. He might stay in bed all day long if he pleased. 

That week was near now, for it was the twelfth of April. In anothereight days the wedding morning would dawn. 

Charlotte was very busy. What young woman is not busy at such a time?Friends poured in, presents arrived at all hours. There were dressmakersand milliners to see and consult, from morning to night. Then Hintontook up some of his bride-elect's time, and the evening hours were givento her father. Seeing how much he liked having her all to himself afterdinner each night, Charlotte had begged her lover not to come to see herat this particular time. 

"You will have me for all the rest of my life, John, " she would say, "and I think it does my father good to be quite alone with me. Itreminds him of old times. " Then, when Hinton acceded to her request, sheoften added, "My father puzzles me. Is it the parting from me makes himlook so ill and sad? I often fear that there is more the matter with himthan he lets appear. I wish he would consult a good doctor. "

Hinton dared not tell her that he had consulted the very best. He couldonly try to turn her attention, and in this he believed that hesucceeded much better than he really did. For when the night came afterthose quiet evenings, Charlotte found that she could not sleep. Was itexcitement at her coming happiness, or was it anxiety?

Anxiety was new to this happy nature--new to this prosperous life. Sheshuddered at the grim thing, as it visited her night after night, in thesolitude of her luxurious room. But shut her eyes to it, fight againstit, as she would, it could not be got to depart from her. The fact was, a dreadful thing had happened to this frank and loving nature, she wasbeginning to suspect the father whom she loved. These suspicions hadfirst come into play on the night when he had fainted in her presence. Some words he had used that night, some expressions which had fallenfrom his lips, had aroused a new and dreadful thought, that thoughtwould not go to sleep, would not depart. Was it possible that her fatherhad done something wrong long ago in his life, and that the remembranceof that wrong--that sin--was what ailed him now? Was it possible thather uncle Jasper, who always appeared so frank and open, had deceivedher? Was it possible that Hinton knew that she was deceived? Thesethoughts did not trouble her much in the daytime, but at night they roseto agonies. They kept sleep far away: so much so, that in the morningshe often came downstairs heavy-eyed and weary. She blamed herself, then, for her mean suspicions; she said to herself, as she gave herfather his morning cup of coffee, that no face could be more incapableof concealing a wrong than that noble old face opposite to her, and shetried to atone for her feelings by extra tenderness of voice and manner. But though this revulsion of feeling came with the morning, the nightbrought back the same agony. She now disliked even to think of Mrs. Home, she never spoke of her to John Hinton. He watched for her to doso, but the name of this young woman which had so intensely interestedher never passed her lips. When Hinton told her that little Harold wasbetter, and that on a certain day he and his mother would be in KentishTown once more, she colored slightly and changed the subject. Hintonrather wondered at this. Uncle Jasper also remarked it. It was now aweek to the wedding-day, and Charlotte was nerving herself for aneffort. She had firmly resolved that before she really gave herself toHinton, she would read her grandfather's will. She felt that nothingelse would completely set her mind at rest. She dreaded doing this asmuch as she longed for it. Each day as it dawned she had put off thetask, but when the day just a week before her wedding came, she feltthat she must overcome what she called a weakness. She would learn theworst that very day. She had little or no idea how to carry out herdesign. She only knew that the will was kept at Somerset House, that ifshe went there and allowed herself to go through certain forms sheshould see it. She had never seen a will in her life, she scarcely kneweven what it would look like. Nevertheless, she could consult no one. She must just go to the place and trust to circumstances to do the rest. 

On the thirteenth of April she resolved, as she put on her dress andhurried down to meet her father at breakfast, that before that nightcame she would carry out her design. Her father seemed better thatmorning. The day was a specially lovely one, and Charlotte said toherself that, before that time to-morrow, her heart would be at rest;she would not even allow herself to glance at a darker alternative. Indeed, happy in having at last firmly made up her mind; she becamesuddenly scarcely at all fearful, scarcely anything but completelyhopeful. She resolved that nothing should turn her from her purposeto-day. 

Her father kissed her, told her he felt certainly better, and went offto the city. 

Immediately after, her uncle Jasper came in. 

"Lottie, child! I can take you to the private view of Mrs. ----'spictures; I have just got an invitation. You know how wild you are tosee them. Be ready at two o'clock. I will call for you then. "

"I am very sorry, but I cannot go with you this afternoon, UncleJasper. "

"Oh! You have made an engagement with Hinton. Can't you put it off? Thisis the last day for the pictures. You can go with Hinton to-morrow. "

"It is not an engagement with John, Uncle Jasper. It is something else, and I cannot put it off. "

All the time a rather loud voice within was saying to her, "Go and seethe pictures. Put off the reading of the will. Be happy for one moreday. " But because this voice, which became so loud, frightened her, shewould not yield to it. 

"I am very sorry, " she repeated; "I should have liked it greatly. But Icannot go. "

"Well! it is a pity, and I took some trouble about it. However, it can'tbe helped. "

"No, it can't be helped, " repeated Charlotte. 

Uncle Jasper went, feeling some annoyance, and also a little curiosity. 

"Strange cattle--women, " he said to himself. "I confess I don'tunderstand 'em. Charlotte, wild to get to that private view two daysago, now won't go because of a whim. Well! I'm glad I never took a wife. I rather pity Hinton. I would not be tied even to that fine creature, Lottie, forever. "

Jasper Harman had scarcely turned the corner of the street, before a cabdrew up at the house, and Hinton came in. Charlotte had not yet left thebreakfast-room. 

"Ah! my dearest, I am afraid you might be out I must hurry away at once;but I just called to say that I have had a telegram from Webster. Youknow how I have longed for you two to meet. Well, he is coming to townto-day, and I want to bring him here at three o'clock. You will be sureto be at home. "

"I am afraid I can't, John; I have an engagement. "

"Oh! but you must put it off, you really _must_ see Webster. He is mygreatest friend, and is to be my best man. You really must, Lottie! andhe telegraphs that he is coming up from Oxford on purpose. "

"I am ever so sorry. Could not you telegraph to him to put off his visituntil to-morrow?"

"No, my dear; he has started before this. "

"I am very sorry; I am unfortunate, " repeated Charlotte. A certaindegree of obstinacy, altogether foreign to her nature, had crept intoher voice. 

Hinton looked at her in undisguised astonishment. 

"You don't mean to say that you are not going to see Webster, when he iscoming up to town on purpose?"

"John, dear, I will see him at five o'clock, I shall be home then. But Ihave an engagement at three. "

"I cannot bring Webster here at five, he must be on his way back then. You must put off your engagement. "

"I really cannot. Uncle Jasper has just been here, and he asked me to gowith him to see the private views at Mrs. ----'s studio. He took sometrouble to get the invitation for us both, but I could not go with him, nor can I stay in. Mr. Webster must wait to make my acquaintance on ourwedding-day, John. "

"And I am to tell him that?"

"Say everything as nice and polite as you can. Say that I am most trulysorry. "

Hinton turned his back on his promised bride; there was a cloud on hisbrow, he felt both hurt and angry. 

"Lottie! what is your engagement?" This was said while pretending tolook down the street. 

Charlotte came close and put her hand a little timidly on his shoulder. "I know you will be vexed, " she said "but I cannot tell you. "

Hinton held up his hand to a passing hansom. 

"Yes, I am vexed, " he said, "but I cannot wait any longer now. You knowI hate secrets, and I think you might have obliged me, Charlotte. "

"I wish I could, " she said, and now her eyes filled with tears. 

Hinton scarcely kissed her before he rushed away, and Charlotte sankdown on the nearest chair. The unaccountable feeling which had promptedher to refuse both her uncle and her lover, and to fix just that hour ofthree o'clock to visit Somerset House, was too strange and strong to beovercome. But the hope which had brightened her breakfast hour had nowall departed. Her heart felt like lead within her breast, she dared notfully contemplate the realization of her worst fears. But they throngedlike legion round her path. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

WHERE HAD THE MONEY CARES VANISHED TO?

Hinton felt thoroughly angry; perhaps he had some cause. Webster, hiscollege chum, his greatest friend, was coming up to town. He had heardmany times and often of Hinton's promised bride, and he was coming totown, Hinton knew well at some personal inconvenience, to see her, andshe refused to see him. 

Hinton, as well as Uncle Jasper, considered it a whim of Charlotte's. Hewas surprised. Nay, he was more than surprised. He was really angry. Here was the woman, who in a week's time now must stand up before Godand promise solemnly to obey him for all the remainder of her life, refusing to attend to his most natural desire. She had an engagement, and she would not tell him what it was; she made a secret of it. Be thesecret little or great, she knew how he disliked all such concealments. 

Was it possible that he was deceived in Charlotte after all? No, no, hewas too really loyal to her, too sincerely attached to her: herfrankness and sweetness were too natural, too complete, for him reallyto doubt her; but he owned that he was disappointed--he owned that hehad not the greatness which she under similar circumstances would haveexercised. She was keeping him in the dark--in the dark he could nottrust. He recalled, with feelings of anything but pleasure, her lastsecret. She thought little of it. But Hinton knew how differently he hadreceived it; he did not like to be reminded of it now. During the lastfew weeks he had managed almost completely to banish it from histhoughts; but now it came back to his memory with some force; itreminded him of Mrs. Home. Was it possible that he was acting wronglyin not searching into her rights? Was it possible that things hadalready come to such a pass with him, that he would not do the rightbecause he feared the consequences? Had riches and wealth and worldlyhonor already become dearer to his soul than righteousness and judgmentand truth?

These condemnatory thoughts were very painful to the young man; but theyturned his feelings of indignation from Charlotte to himself. 

It was nearly a month now since he had left Mrs. Home. When he went awayhe had provided her with another lodger. He remembered that by this timeshe must have come back from Torquay. As this thought came to him hestopped suddenly and pulled out his watch. Webster would not be atPaddington before two o'clock. He had nothing very special to do thatmorning, he would jump into a hansom and go and see Mrs. Home andHarold. He put his ideas into execution without an instant's delay, andarrived at Kentish Town and drew up at the well-known door at quite anearly hour. Daisy and the baby were already out, but Harold, stillsomething of an invalid, stood by the dining-room window. Harold, alittle weary from his journey, a little spoiled by his happy month atTorquay was experiencing some of that flatness, which must now and thenvisit even a little child when he finds he must descend from a pedestal. For a very long time he had been first in every one's thoughts. He hadnow to retire from the privileges of an invalid to the everydayposition, the everyday life of a healthy child. While at Torquay hismother had no thought for any one but him; but now, this very morning, she had clasped the baby in such an ecstasy of love to her heart, thatlittle spoiled Harold felt quite a pang of jealousy. It was with a shouttherefore of almost ecstasy that he hailed Hinton. He flew to open thedoor for him himself, and when he entered the dining-room he instantlyclimbed on his knee. Hinton was really fond of the boy, and Haroldreflected with satisfaction that he was altogether his own friend, thathe scarcely knew either Daisy or the baby. 

In a moment entered the happy, smiling mother. 

"Ah! you have come to see your good work completed, " she said. "See whata healthy little boy I have brought back with me. "

"We had just a delicious time, " said Harold, "and I'm very strong againnow, ain't I, mother? But it wasn't Mr. Hinton gave us the money to goto Torquay, it was my pretty lady. "

"Do you know, " said Mrs. Home, "I think you were scarcely, for all yourgreat, great, and real kindness, scarcely perfect even in that respect. I never knew until a few days ago, and then it was in a letter fromherself, that you are so soon to marry Charlotte Harman. "

"Yes, we are to be married on the twentieth, " answered Hinton, "Has shewritten to you? I am glad. "

"I had one letter from her. She wrote to ask about my boy, and to tellme this of you. "

"She takes a great interest in you, " said Hinton. 

"And I in her. I believe I can read character fairly well, and in her Isee----"

"What?" asked the lover, with a smile. 

"In brow, eyes, and lips I see truth, honor, love, bravery. Mr. Hinton, you deserve it all, but, nevertheless, you are drawing a great prize inyour wife. "

"I believe I am, " answered the young man, deeply moved. 

"When _can_ I see my pretty lady again?" asked Harold, suddenly. "If youare going to marry her, do you mean to take her quite, quite away? Whenmay I see her?"

"Before very long, I hope, my dear boy, " answered Hinton. 

"He has talked of her so often, " said the mother. "I never saw any onewho in so short a time so completely won the heart of a little child; Ibelieve the thought of her helped to make him well. Ah! how thankful Iam when I look at him; but Mr. Hinton, there is another thing whichgives me great joy just now. "

"And that?" said Hinton. 

"Last night something very wonderful happened. I was at home not twohours, when I was surprised by a visit from one whom I had never seenbefore and whom I had supposed to be in his grave for over twenty years. My dear mother had one brother who went to Australia shortly after hermarriage. From Australia the news reached her of his death. He was notdead; he came back again. I had a visit from that uncle last night. "

"How strange!" said Hinton. 

"Yes; I have not heard his story yet. He met my little Daisy in Regent'sPark, and found out who she was through her likeness to my mother. Is itnot all like a romance? I had not an idea who the dear old man was whenhe came to visit me last night; but how glad I am now to feel that myown mother's brother is still alive!"

Hinton asked a few more questions; then after many promises of effectinga meeting very soon between Charlotte and little Harold he went away. Hewas puzzled by Mrs. Home. The anxious woman he had thought of, whose sadface often haunted him, was gone, and another peaceful, happy, almostbeautiful in her serenity, had come in her place. Her joy at Harold'srecovery was both natural and right; but where had the money caresvanished to? Surely Charlotte's fifty pounds could not have done morethan pay the Torquay trip. As to her delight over her Australian uncle'sreturn, he rather wondered at it, and then forgot it. He little guessed, as he allowed it to vanish from his mind, how it was yet to influencethe fate of more lives than his. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

JASPER'S TERROR. 

Uncle Jasper, too, left Charlotte on that special morning with somedispleasure, some surprise, and some anxiety. Remorse, as I have said, did not visit the man. Long ago, a very long time ago now, he and hisbrother John had touched an evil thing. For both men the naturalconsequences followed; but how differently? John wanted to fling thebase defilement from his soul; Jasper wanted so to bury it there, sodeftly, so cleverly to hide it within his very heart of hearts, that itshould not appear to dishonor him in the eyes of his fellow-men. Of thefinal judgment and its disclosure he never thought. It was his inabilityto cover up the secret; it was his ever-growing knowledge that thegarment was neither long enough nor broad enough to wrap it round, thatcaused his anxiety from day to day. In spite of his cheerful and ruddyface he was feeling quite worn and old. If this continues, if thesepeople will insist on pulling the house down over their heads, I shallfall ill like John, he reflected. He was very angry with these stupidand silly people, who were bringing such shame and dishonor onthemselves. He often found himself wishing that his niece Charlotte hadnot been the fine and open character she was. Had Charlotte beendifferent he might have ventured to confide in her. He felt that withCharlotte on his side all might yet be well. This, however, wasabsolutely impossible. To tell Charlotte would be to tell the world. Badas her father was in keeping this ugly secret quiet, Charlotte would beten times, twenty times, worse. What an unfortunate thing it was thatCharlotte had put that advertisement in the papers, and that Mrs. Homehad answered it! Mrs. Home of all people! Well, well, it came of thatdreadful meddling of women in literature. _He_, Jasper, had known nopeace since the day that Charlotte had wished for an amanuensis to helpher with her silly book. 

Jasper on this particular morning, as he hurried off from the Harmanhouse, felt less and less comfortable. He was sure, by Charlotte'smanner, that her engagement was something very particular. He feared shewas going to meet Mrs. Home. He came, with all his surmises, very farshort of the real truth, but he was in that state of mind when theguilty fly, with no man pursuing. It had been an awful moment for oldJasper Harman when, a week ago, he had suddenly knocked up against thatsolitary, foreign-looking man. He had heard his voice and seen his face, and he had felt his own heart standing still. Who _was_ this man? Was hea ghost? the ghost of the long-dead trustee? Jasper began to hope thatit was but an accidental likeness in voice and manner. For was not thisman, this Alexander Wilson, named in his father's will, dead and buriedfor many a day? Had not he, Jasper, not, indeed, seen him die, but hadhe not stood on his grave? Had not he travelled up some hundreds ofmiles in that wild Australian country for the sole purpose of standingon that special grave? And had not he read name and age, and date ofdeath, all fully corroborating the story which had been sent to him?Yes, Jasper hoped that it was but a very remarkable likeness--a ghost ofthe real man. How, indeed, could it be anything but a ghost when he hadstood upon the man's very grave? He hoped this. He had brought himselfalmost to believe it; but for all that, fear and uneasiness werebecoming more and more his portion, and he did not like to dwell even inthought upon that night's adventures. He walked on fast. He dislikedcabs, and never took them. One of his great secrets of health wasexercise, and plenty of it; but he was rather in a hurry; he had anappointment in town for a comparatively early hour, and he wanted tocall at his club for letters. He reached his destination, entered thebuilding, and found a little pile awaiting him. He turned slowly intothe reading-room to read them. One after the other he tore them open. They were not very interesting, and a rapid glance of his quick, deepeye was sufficient to enable him to master the contents. In ten minuteshe had but one letter left to read, and that was in a strangehandwriting. "Another begging epistle, " he said to himself. He feltinclined to tear it up without going to the trouble of opening it. Hehad very nearly slipped it into his pocket, to take its chance at somefuture time, for he remembered that he was already late. Finally he didneither; he opened the letter and read it where he sat. This was whathis eyes rested on--

 10, TREMINS ROAD, KENTISH TOWN. SIR:--

 According to your wish I write to you at your club. My wife returned from Torquay last night, and I told her of your visit and your proposal. She desires me to say, and this I do, both from her and myself, that she will not accept your offer, for reasons which we neither of us care to explain. We do not wish for the three thousand pounds you are willing to settle on my wife. 

 I remain, sir, Yours faithfully, ANGUS HOME. 

 _To_ JASPER HARMAN, ESQ. 

This letter fell from the hands of Jasper. His lips came a little apart, and a new look of terror came into his eyes. So absorbed was he, sothoroughly frightened by this letter, that he forgot where he was. Heneither saw the looks of surprise, nor heard the words of astonishmentmade by those about him. Finally he gathered up envelope and paper andhurried out. As he walked down the street he looked by no means so youngas he had done when he got up that morning. His hat was put on crooked, his very gait was uncertain. Jasper had got a shock. Being utterlyunable to read the minds of the people who had written to him, he couldbut imagine one meaning to their words. They were not so unworldly as hehad hoped. They saw through his bribe; they would not accept it, because--because--_they knew better_. Mrs. Home had read that will. Mrs. Home meant to prosecute. Yes, yes, it was all as plain as that the sunwas shining overhead. Mrs. Home meant to go to law. Exposure, anddisgrace, and punishment were all close at hand. There was no doubt ofit, no doubt whatever now. Those were the reasons which neither Mr. NorMrs. Home cared to explain. Turning a corner he came suddenly full tiltagainst Hinton. The young man turned and walked down the street withhim. 

"You are on your way to Charlotte?" remarked the old man. 

"No: I have been to her already. She has an engagement this afternoon. Did she not tell you? She said you wanted her to go somewhere with you, and this same engagement prevented it. No, I am not going to Prince'sGate, but I am off to Paddington in about an hour to meet a friend. "

Hinton spoke cheerfully, for his passing annoyance with Charlotte hadabsolutely vanished under Mrs. Home's words of loving praise. When Mrs. Home spoke as she had done of his brave and noble Charlotte the youngman had felt quite ashamed of having doubted her even for a briefmoment. 

Jasper had, however, been told of little Harold's illness, and Hinton, knowing this, continued, --

"I have just come from the Homes. You know whom I mean? Their little boywas the one I helped to nurse through scarlet fever. Mother and boy havecome back from Torquay like different creatures from the pleasantchange. Mrs. Home looked absolutely bright. Charlotte will like to hearof her; and by the way, a curious thing, a little bit of a romance hashappened to her. An uncle from Australia, whom she had supposed to bedead and in his grave for over twenty years, walked in alive and halelast night. She did not know him at first, but he managed to prove hisidentity. He----good heavens! Mr. Harman, what is the matter? You areill; come in here. "

Hinton led Jasper into a chemist's shop, which they happened to bepassing at the moment, for his ruddy face had suddenly become ghastlywhite, and he had to clutch the young man's arm to keep himself fromfalling. 

"It is nothing, " he explained, when he had been given a restorative. "Yes, I felt faint. I hope I am not going to be taken bad like mybrother. What do you say? a hansom? Well, yes, perhaps I had better haveone. "

Jasper was bowled rapidly out of sight and Hinton walked on. No dust hadbeen thrown in his eyes as to the cause of Jasper's agitation. He hadobserved the start of almost terror with which he had turned on him whenhe had first mentioned the long-lost Australian uncle of Mrs. Home's. Hehad often seen how uneasy he was, however cleverly he tried to hide it, when the Homes were mentioned. What did it all mean? Hinton felt veryuncomfortable. Much as he loved Charlotte, it was not nice to marry intoa family who kept concealed an ugly secret. Hinton was more and moreconvinced that there was a secret, and that this uncle who was supposedto be dead was in some way connected with it. Hinton was too acute, tooclever, to put down Jasper's agitation to any other cause. Instantly hebegan to see a reason for Mrs. Home's joy in the recovery of thislong-lost relation. It was a reason unworthy of her, unworthy anduntrue; but nevertheless it took possession of the mind of this youngman. The uncle ceased to be an object of little interest to him. Hewalked on, feeling downcast and perplexed. This day week would be hiswedding-day, and Charlotte--Charlotte, beautiful and noble, nothingshould part them. But what was this secret? Could he, dare he, fathomit? No, because of Charlotte he must not--it would break Charlotte'sheart; because of Charlotte's father he must not, for it would cause hisdeath; and yet, because of Jasper, he longed to, for he owned to himselfthat he disliked Jasper more and more. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE READING OF THE WILL. 

Charlotte's depression did not remain with her all through the day. Shewas a healthy creature, healthy both in body and mind. It was impossiblefor her, with the bright spring sun shining, and with her wedding-daybut one week absent, not to turn again to hope. She saw that she hadvexed Hinton. She still felt that queer and uncomfortable desire to beat Somerset House, just at the very hour when her lover had pleaded forher society. But she reflected that when she told him the story, whenshe proudly cleared her father in his eyes, he would most abundantlyforgive her. 

"He hates secrets, " she said to herself; "and it is the last, the verylast, little, tiny secret I shall ever have from my darling. "

By this it will be seen that she had ceased to fear her grandfather'swill. She had ordered the carriage immediately after lunch, and nowasked the coachman to drive to the Strand. As she lay back at her easeshe reflected how soon now her anxiety would be over. 

"Dear father, " she whispered to her heart, "how extra loving and tenderI must be to him to-night! I believe him now--fully and absolutelybelieve him now. I am only doing this for John's sake. "

When she reached the Strand she desired the coachman to stop. She wouldnot have him drive to Somerset House. Her secret was a secret, even theold coachman, who had known her from her birth, must not guess it. Shetold him that she had some business to transact, but that he might meether at a certain part of the Embankment in an hour. 

The carriage rolled out of sight. Now she was alone. She was notaccustomed to walking the London streets by herself. Certainly she hadnever been in the Strand before alone. She had dressed herself withstudied plainness, and now, with her veil drawn tightly over her face, she hurried on. She had consulted the map, and knew exactly whereSomerset House was. She also had obtained a little, a very littleinformation as to how she was to act for the pursuit of her purpose, from a young barrister who had visited at her home with Hinton some fewweeks before. She considered that she had gained her knowledge withconsiderable skill; and now, with a beating heart, she proceeded to acton it. She turned into the great square which Somerset House encloses, found the particular building where wills are kept, and entered. She wasnow in a large room, or entrance-hall. There were many desks about, andsome clerks, who did not seem particularly busy. Charlotte went up toone of the desks, a clerk lent an attentive ear, she told her errand. 

"Ah! you want to read a will, " said the gentleman. "You must firstproduce the proper stamp. Yes, yes, you can certainly see any will youdesire. Just go through that door to your right, walk down the passage;you will see a door with such a direction written on it; ask for asearch stamp. It will cost you a shilling. Bring it back to me. "

Charlotte did as she was desired. The clerk she had appealed to, attracted by her appearance and manner, was willing to be both helpfuland polite. 

"Whose will do you want, madam?"

"I want my grandfather's will. His name was Harman. "

"What year did he die?"

"Twenty-three years ago. "

"Ah! just so. This is 1880. So he died in the year 1857. Do you seethose catalogues to your left? Go up to those marked 1857. Look underletter H, until you find Harman. Bring the book open at that name tome. "

Charlotte was clever at carrying out her instructions. She quicklyreturned with the book opened at the desired name. The clerk wrote Mr. Harman's name and a number of a folio on a small piece of blue paper. This he gave to Charlotte. 

"Take this piece of paper to room number 31, along the passage, " hesaid. "You will have the will very soon now. "

She bowed, thanked him, and went away. At room 31 she was desired towait in the reading-room. She found it without difficulty. It was asmall room, with a long table in the middle, and benches round it. Atone end sat a clerk at a desk. Charlotte seated herself at the table. There were other people about, some reading wills, some others waitinglike herself. She happened just then to be the only woman in the room. She drew up her veil, pressed her hand to her pale face, and waited withwhat patience she could. She was too much excited to notice how she waslooked at and her appearance commented upon. Sitting there and waitingwith what courage she could muster, her fear returned. What stealthything was this she was doing in the dark? What march was she stealing onher father, her beloved and honored father? Suddenly it appeared to herthat she had done wrong. That it would be better, more dignified, morenoble, to ask from his own lips the simple truth, than to learn it bysuch underhand means as these. She half rose to go away; but at thismoment a clerk entered, gave a piece of folded paper to the man at thedesk, who read aloud the one word, --

"Harman. "

Charlotte felt herself turning deadly white as she stood up to receiveit. But when she really held her grandfather's will in her hand alldesire not to read it had left her. She opened the folio with hershaking fingers, and began to read as steadily as she could. Her eyeshad scarcely, however, turned over the page, and most certainly her mindhad failed to grasp the meaning of a single word, before, for someunaccountable reason, she raised her head. A large man had come in andhad seated himself opposite to her. He was a man on an immense scale, with a rough, red, kind face, and the longest, most brilliantly coloredbeard Charlotte had ever seen. His round, bright blue eyes were fixedearnestly on the young lady. She returned his glance, in her ownpeculiar full and open way, then returned to her interrupted task. Ah!what a task it was after all. Hard to understand, how difficult tofollow! Charlotte, unused to all law phraseology, failed to grasp themeaning of what she read. She knit her pretty brows, and went over eachpassage many times. She was looking for certain names, and she saw nomention of them. Her heart began to leap with renewed joy and hope. Ah!surely, surely her grandfather had been unjust, and her own belovedfather was innocent. Mrs. Home's story was but a myth. She had read forsuch a long, long time, and there was no mention of her or of hermother. Surely if her grandfather meant to leave them money he wouldhave spoken of it before now. She had just turned another page, and wasreading on with a light heart, when the clerk again entered. Charlotteraised her head, she could not tell why. The clerk said something to theclerk at the desk, who, turning to the tall foreign-looking man said, --

"The will of the name of Harman is being read just now by some one inthe room. "

"I will wait then, " answered the man in his deep voice. 

Charlotte felt herself turning first crimson, then pale. She saw thatthe man observed her. A sudden sense of fright and of almost terroroppressed her. Her sweet and gracious calm completely deserted her. Herfingers trembled so that she could scarcely turn the page. She did notknow what she feared. A nightmare seemed pressing on her. She felt thatshe could never grasp the meaning of the will. Her eyes travelledfarther down the page. Suddenly her finger stopped; her brain grewclear, her heart beat steadily. This was what she read, --

 "I will and bequeath all the residue of my real and personal estate and effects to the said John Harman, Jasper Harman, and Alexander Wilson, in trust to sell and realize the same, and out of the proceeds thereof to invest such a sum in public stocks or funds, or other authorized securities, as will produce an annual income of £1, 200 a year, and to hold the investment of the said sum in trust to pay the income thereof to my dear wife for her life: and after her decease to hold the said investment in trust for my daughter Charlotte to her sole and separate use, independently of any husband with whom she may intermarry. "

Charlotte Harman was not the kind of woman who faints. But there is aheart faintness when the muscles remain unmoved, and the eyes are stillbright. At that moment her youth died absolutely. But though she feltits death pang, not a movement of her proud face betrayed her. She saw, without looking at him, that the red-faced man was watching her. Sheforced herself to raise her eyes, and saying simply, "This is Mr. Harman's will, " handed it to him across the table. He took it, and beganto devour the contents with quick and practised eyes. What she had takenso long to discover he took it in at a glance. She heard him utter a asmothered exclamation of pain and horror. She felt not the leastamazement or curiosity. All emotion seemed dead in her. She drew on hergloves deliberately, pulled down her veil, and left the room. That dead, dead youth she was dragging away with her had made her feel so cold andnumb that she never noticed that the red faced man had hastily folded upthe will, had returned it to the clerk at the desk, and was followingher. She went through the entrance hall, glancing neither to the left orright. The man came near. When they both got into the square he came toher side, raised his hat and spoke. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

TRUSTEES. 

"Madam, " said the stranger, "you will pardon my intruding on you, but Isaw it in your face. You are interested in that will you have justread. "

"Yes, " answered Charlotte simply. 

At another time she would have given an indignant retort to what shewould have considered a liberty. Now she turned her eyes with a muteappeal in them to this stranger, for she recognized kindness in histones. 

"It was my grandfather's will, " she said, responding yet farther to thefull, kind gaze he gave her back. 

"Ah! then that sets me right, " said Sandy Wilson, for it was he. "Thatsets me right, young lady. Now I saw you got a considerable bit of ashock just then. You ain't, you'll forgive me for saying so, but youain't quite fit to meet any of your people for a bit; you may want themnot to guess, but any one with half an eye can see you're not the younglady you were even when I entered that reading-room not half an hourback. I'm a rough, plain man, but I'm very much interested in that willtoo, and I'd like to have a little bit of a talk with you about it, ifyou'll allow me. Suppose, miss, that you and I just take a turn roundthe square for a few moments. "

Charlotte's answer to this was to turn her face again towards theparticular building where she had read the will, and her companion, turning with her, began to talk eagerly. 

"You see, miss, it was quite a little bit of luck brought you and metogether to-day. The gentleman who made that will was your grandfather;your name is----"

"Harman, " answered Charlotte. 

"Ah! yes, I see; and I--I am Alexander Wilson. I don't suppose you eversaw me before; but I, too, am much interested in that will. I have beenabroad, and--and--supposed to be dead almost ever since that will wasmade. But I was not dead, I was in Australia; I came home a week ago, and found out my one living relation, my niece, my sister's child. Sheis married and is a Mrs. Home now, but she is the Charlotte named in Mr. Harman's will, the Charlotte to whom, and to her mother before her, Mr. Harman left £1, 200 a year. "

"Yes, " said Charlotte Harman. She found difficulty in dragging this oneword from her lips. 

"Madam, I find my niece very poor; very, very poor. I go and look at herfather's will. I see there that she is entitled to wealth, to what shewould consider riches. I find also that this money is left for herbenefit in the hands of trustees; two of the trustees are called Harman, the other, madam, is--is I--myself; I--Alexander Wilson, am the othertrustee, supposed to be dead. I could not hitherto act, but I can actnow. I can get that wronged woman back her own. Yes, a monstrous pieceof injustice has been done. It was full time for Sandy Wilson to comehome. Now the first thing I must do is to find the other trustees; Imust find the Harmans, wherever they are, for these Harmans have robbedmy niece. "

"I can give you their addresses, " answered Charlotte, suddenly pausingin her walk and turning and facing her companion. "John Harman, theother trustee, who, as you say, has robbed Mrs. Home, is my father. I amhis only child. His address is Prince's Gate, Kensington. "

"Good heavens!" said Wilson, shocked and frightened by her manner; "Inever guessed that you were his child--and yet you betray him. "

"I am his only child. When do you wish to see him?"

To this question Wilson made no answer for a few moments. Though a justman, he was a kind one. He could read human nature with tolerableaccuracy. It was despair, not want of feeling, which put those hardtones into that young voice. He would not, he could not, take advantageof its bewilderment. 

"Miss Harman, " he said after a pause, "you will pardon me, but I don'tthink you quite know what you are saying; you have got a considerablebit of a shock; you were not prepared for this baseness--this basenesson your father's part. "

Here her eyes, turned with a sudden swift flash of agony upon him, saidas plainly as eyes could speak--

"Need you ask?"

"No, you could not have guessed it, " continued Sandy, replying to thismute, though beautiful appeal, almost with tears. "You are Mr. Harman'sonly child. Now I daresay you are a good bit of an idol with him. I knowhow I'd worship a fine lassie like you if I had her. Well, well, miss: Idon't want to pain you, but when young things come all on a heap on agreat wrong like you have done to-day, they're apt, whatever theirformer love, to be a bit, just a bit, too hard. They do things, in theirfirst agony, that they are sorry enough for by and by. Now, miss, what Iwant to say is this, that I won't take down your father's address to-daynor listen indeed to anything you may tell me about him. I want you tosleep it over, miss. Of course something must be done, but if you willsleep it over, and I, Sandy Wilson sleep it over too, we'll cometogether over the business with our heads a deal clearer than we couldwhen we both felt scared, so to speak, as we doubtless do just atpresent. I won't move hand or foot in the matter until I see you again, Miss Harman, When do you think you will be able to see me again?"

"Will this hour to-morrow do?"

"Yes; I shall be quite at your service. And as we may want to look atthat will again, suppose we meet just here, miss?"

"I will be here at this hour to-morrow, " said Charlotte, and as shespoke she pulled out her watch to mark the exact time. "It is a quarterpast four now, " she said; "I will meet you here at this hour to-morrow, at a quarter past four. "

"Very well, young lady, and may God help you! If I might express a wishfor you, it is that you may have a good hard cry between now and then. When I was told, and quite sudden like too, that my little sister, DaisyWilson, was dead nothing took off the pressure from my heart and brainlike a good hearty cry. So I wish you the same. They say women need itmore than men. "

CHAPTER XXXV. 

DAN'S WIFE

Charlotte watched Wilson out of the square, then she slowly followedhim. The numbness of that dead youth was still oppressing her heart andbrain. But she remembered that the carriage must be waiting for her onthe Embankment, also that her father--she gasped a little as the thoughtof her father came to her--that her father would have returned from thecity; that he might ask for her, and would wonder and grow uneasy at herabsence. She must go home, that was her first thought. She hurried hersteps, anxious to take the first turning which would lead to theEmbankment. 

She had turned down a side street and was walking rapidly, when sheheard her name called suddenly and eagerly, and a woman, very shabbilydressed, came up to her. 

"Oh, Miss Harman--Miss Harman--don't you know me?"

Charlotte put her hand to her brow. 

"Yes, " she said, "I know you now; you are Hester Wright. Is your husbandout of prison yet?"

"He is, Miss, and he's dying; he's dying 'ard, 'ard; he's allers sayingas he wants to see either you or his master. We are told that the masteris ill; but oh! miss, miss, ef you would come and see him, he's dreadfulanxious--dreadful, dreadful anxious. I think it's jest some'ut on hismind; ef he could tell it, I believe as he'd die easy. Oh! my beautiful, dear young lady, every one has a good word for you. Oh! I was going tomake bold to come to Prince's Gate, and ask you to come to see him. You'll never be sorry, miss, if you can help a poor soul to die easy. "

"You say he is really dying?" said Charlotte. 

"Yes, indeed, indeed, miss; he never held up his head since he saw theinside of the prison. He's dying now of a galloping waste, so thedoctors say. Oh! Miss Harman, I'll bless you for ever if you'll come andsee him. "

"Yes, I will come, " said Charlotte. "Where do you live?"

"Away over at Poplar, miss. Poor place enough, and unfit for one likeyou, but I'll come and fetch you my own self, and not a pin's worth ofharm shall come to you; you need have no cause to fear. When shall Icome for you, my dear, dear young lady?"

"The man is dying, you say, " said Charlotte. "Death doesn't wait for ourconvenience; I will come with you now. My carriage is waiting quitenear, I must go and give directions to the coachman: you can come withme: I will then get a cab and drive to see your husband. "

After this the two women--the rich and the poor--walked on side by side, quickly and in silence. The heart of the one was dry and parched withthe sudden fire of that anguish and shame, the heart of the other was sosoothed, so thankful, that soft tears came, to be wiped stealthily away. 

"Ain't she an angel?" she said to herself, knowing nothing, guessingless, of the storm which raged within her companion's soul; "and won'tmy poor Dan die easy now?"

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

AN OLD WEDDING-RING. 

Once in Charlotte's life before now, she had remembered her father doingwhat she considered a strangely hard thing. A valet in whom he hadalways reposed full confidence had robbed him of one hundred pounds. Hehad broken open his master's desk at night and taken from thence notesto that amount. The deed had been clumsily done, and detection was veryeasy. The name of this valet was Wright. He was young and good-looking, and had been lately married; hitherto he had been considered all thatwas respectable. When his crime was brought home to him, he flew to seekCharlotte, then a very young girl; he flung himself on his knees in herpresence, and begged of her to ask her father to show mercy to him. Scarcely half a dozen words of passionate, terrified entreaty had passedhis trembling lips, before there came a tap at the door and the youngwife rushed in to kneel by his side. Together they implored; their wordswere poor and halting, but the agony of their great plea for mercy wentstraight to the young generous heart they asked to intercede for them. Charlotte promised to do what she could. She promised eagerly, with hopein her tones. 

Never afterwards did she forget that day. Long indeed did the faces ofthose two continue to haunt her, for she had promised in vain; herfather was obdurate to all her entreaties; even her tears, and she hadcried passionately, had failed to move him. Nothing should save Wrightfrom the full penalty of his crime. He was arrested, convicted, and sentto prison. 

From that moment the Harmans lost sight of the couple. Charlotte hadtried, it is true, to befriend Hester Wright, but the young woman withsome pride had refused all assistance from those whom she consideredstrangely hard and cruel. It was some years now since anything had beenheard of either of them. Charlotte, it is true, had not forgotten them, but she had put them into a back part of her memory, for her father'sconduct with regard to Wright had always been a sore puzzle to her. Andnow, on this day of all days, she was driving in a cab by the side ofHester Wright to see her dying husband. She had sent a message home bythe coachman which would allay all immediate anxiety on her account, andshe sat back in the cab by the side of the poor and sad woman with asense of almost relief, for the present. For an hour or two she hadsomething outside of herself and her home to turn her thoughts to. Afterwhat seemed a very long drive, they reached the shabby court andshabbier house where the Wrights lived. 

Charlotte had heard of such places before, but had never visited them. Shabby women, and dirty and squalid children surrounded the young ladyas she descended to the pavement. The children came very close indeed, and some even stroked her dress. One mite of three years raised, in themidst of its dirt and neglect, a face of such sweetness and innocence, that Charlotte suddenly stooped down and kissed it. That kiss, though itleft a grimy mark on her lips, yet gave the first faint touch ofconsolation to her sorely bruised heart. There was something good stillleft on God's earth, and she had come to this slum, in the East end ofLondon, to see it shine in a baby's eyes. 

"Ef you please, Miss, I think we had better keep the cab, " said HesterWright; "I don't think there's any cabstand, not a long way from yere. "

Charlotte spoke to the cabby, desired him to wait, then she followedHester into the house. 

"No, I have no children, " said the woman in answer to a question of theyoung lady's; "thank God fur that; who'd want to have young 'uns in ahole like this?"

By this time they had reached their destination. It was a cellar; Hesterwas not so very far wrong in calling it a hole. It was damp, dirty, andill-smelling, even to the woman who was accustomed to it; to Charlotteit was horrible beyond words. For a time, the light was so faint shecould distinguish nothing, then on some straw in a corner she saw a man. He was shrunken, and wasted, and dying, and Charlotte, prepared as shewas for a great change, could never have recognized him. His wife, taking Charlotte's hand in hers, led her forward at once. 

"You'd never ha' guessed, Dan, as I'd have so much luck, " she said. "Imet our young lady in the street, and I made bold to 'ax her and comeand see you, and she come off at once. This is our Miss Harman, Dandear. "

"Our Miss Harman, " repeated the dying man, raising his dim eyes. "She'schanged a goodish bit. "

"Don't call me yours, " said Charlotte. "I never did anything for you. "

"Ay, but you tried, " said the wife. "Dan and me don't furget as we heerdyou cryin' fit to break yer heart outside the study door, and himwithin, wid a heart as hard as a nether mill-stone, would do nought. No, you did yer werry best; Dan and me, we don't furget. "

"No, I don't furget, " said the man. "It wor a pity as the old man wereso werry 'ard. I wor young and I did it rare and clumsy; it wor to pay adebt, a big, big debt. I 'ad put my 'and to a bit of paper widhoutknowing wot it meant, and I wor made to pay for it, and the notes theyseemed real 'andy. Well, well, I did it badly, I ha' larnt the right waysince from some prison pals. I would not be found out so easy now. "

He spoke in an indifferent, drawling kind of voice, which expressed noemotion whatever. 

"You are very ill, I fear, " said Charlotte, kneeling by his side. 

"Ill! I'm dying, miss dear. "

Charlotte had never seen death before. She noticed now the queer shadeof grey in the complexion, the short and labored breath. She feltpuzzled by these signs, for though she had never seen death, thisgrayness, this shortness of breath, were scarcely unfamiliar. 

"I'm dying, " continued the man. "I don't much care; weren't it fur Hettythere, I'd be rayther glad. I never 'ad a chance since the old mastersent me to prison. I'd ha' lived respectable enough ef the old master'ad bin merciful that time. But once in prison, always in prison fur afriendless chap like me. I never wanted to steal agen, but I jest 'adto, to keep the life in me. I could get no honest work hanywhere; thenat last I took cold, and it settled yere, " pointing to his sunken chest, "and I'm going off, sure as sure!"

"He ain't like to live another twenty-four hours, so the doctor do say, "interrupted the wife. 

"No, that's jest it. Yesterday a parson called. I used ter see the jailchaplain, and I never could abide him, but this man, he did speak hupand to the point. He said as it wor a hawful thing to die unforgiven. Hesaid it over and over, until I wor fain to ax him wot I could do to getfurgiven, fur he did say it wor an hawful thing to die without havingparding. "

"Oh, it must be, it must be!" said Charlotte, suddenly clasping herhands very tightly together. 

"I axed him how I could get it from God h'Almighty, and he told me, totell him, the parson, first of all my whole story, and then he could_adwise_ me; so I hup and telled him heverything, hall about that theftas first tuk me to prison and ruined me, and how 'ard the old masterwor, and I telled him another thing too, for he 'ad sech a way, heseemed to draw yer werry 'art out of you. Then he axed me ef I'dfurgiven the old master, and I said no, fur he wor real, real 'ard; thenhe said so solemn-like, 'That's a great, great pity, fur I'm afraid asGod can't furgive you, till you furgives. ' Arter that he said a few morewords, and prayed awhile, and then he went away. I could not sleep hallnight, and to-day I called Hetty there, over, and she said as she'd doher werry best to bring either the old master yere, or you miss, and yousee you are come; 'tis an awful thing to die without parding, that's whyI axed you to come. "

"Yes, " said Charlotte very softly. 

"Please, miss, may a poor dying feller, though he ain't no better nor acommon, common thief, may he grip, 'old of yer and?"

"With all my heart. "

"There now, it don't seem so werry 'ard. _Lord Jesus, I furgives Mr. Harman. _ Now I ha' said it. Wife dear, bring me hover that little box, that as I allers kep' so close. "

His wife brought him a tiny and very dirty cardboard box. 

"_She_ kep' it when I wor locked up; I allers call it my bit o' revenge. I'll give it back now. Hetty, open it. "

Hetty did so, taking from under a tiny bit of cotton-wool a worn, old-fashioned wedding-ring. 

"There, miss dear, " said Wright, handing it to her, "that wor the oldmaster's wife's ring. I knew as he set more prize to it nor heverythingelse he had, he used to wear it on a bit of ribbon round his neck. Oneday he did not put it on, he furgot it, and I, when I found he meant tobe so werry, werry 'ard, I took it and hid it, and took it away wid me. It comforted me when I wor so long in prison to think as he might befretting fur it, and never guess as the lad he were so 'ard on had it. Inever would sell it, and now as I has furgiven him, he may have it backagen. You tell him arter I'm dead, tell him as I furgives him, andyere's the ring back agen. "

Charlotte slipped the worn little trinket on her finger. 

"I will try and give my father your message, " she said. "I may not beable at once, but I will try. I am glad you have forgiven him; we allstand in sore, sore need of that, not only from our fellow-men, but muchmore from our God. Now good-bye, I will come again. " She held out herhand. 

"Ah, but miss dear, I won't be yere fur no coming again, I'll be faraway. Hetty knows that, poor, poor, gal! Hetty'll miss me, but only furthat I could be real glad, fur now as I ha' furgiven the old master, Ifeels real heasy. I ain't nothing better nor a common thief, but furhall that, I think as Jesus 'ull make a place for me somehow nigh ofhisself. "

"And, miss, " said Hester, "I'm real sorry, and so will Dan be when Itell him how bad the old master is. "

"My father is not well; but how do you know?" said Charlotte. 

"Well, miss, I went to the house to-day, a-looking fur you and theservant she told me, she said as there worn't never a hope, as the oldmaster were safe to die. "

"Then maybe I can tell himself hup in heaven as I quite furgives him, "said Dan Wright. 

Charlotte glanced from one speaker to the other in a kind of terribleastonishment. Suddenly she knew on whose brow she had seen that awfulgrayness, from whose lips she had heard that short and hurried breath. Akind of spasm of great agony suddenly contracted her heart. Without aword, however, she rose to her feet, gave the wife money for her presentneeds, bade the dying husband good-bye, and stepped into the cab whichstill waited for her. It was really late, and all daylight had faded asshe gave the direction for her own luxurious home. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THREE FACTS. 

Dinner was more than half over when she reached Prince's Gate. She wasglad of this. She went straight up to her own room and sent for hermaid. 

"Ward, I am very tired and not very well. I shall not go down againto-night, nor do I wish to see any one. Please bring up a cup of strongtea here, and a little dry toast, and then you may leave me. I shall notwant you again to-night. "

"You won't see Mr. Harman again to-night, miss. Am I to take him thatmessage?"

"Yes; say that I have a headache and think I had better stay quiet. Iwill be down to breakfast as usual. "

Ward went away, to return in a few moments with the tea and toast. 

"If you please, Miss Harman, they have just sent the wedding dress andveil from ----. Are you too tired to be fitted to-night?"

Charlotte gave a little involuntary shudder. 

"Yes, I am much too tired, " she said; "put everything away, I do notwant even to look at them. Thank you, Ward, this tea looks nice. Now youneed not come in again. Good-night. "

"Good night, Miss Harman, " said the maid, going softly to the door andclosing it behind her. 

Charlotte got up at once and turned the key. Now, at last, thank God, she was quite alone. She threw off her bonnet and cloak and goingstraight to her bed flung herself upon it. In this position she laystill for over an hour. The strong tension she had put on herself gaveway during that hour, for she groaned often and heavily, though tearswere very far from her eyes. At the end of about an hour she got up, bathed her face and hands in cold water, drank a cup of tea, and putsome coals on a fire in the grate. She then pulled out her watch. Yes;she gave a sigh of relief--it was not yet ten o'clock, she had the bestpart of twelve hours before her in which to prepare to meet her fatherat breakfast. In these hours she must think, she must resolve, she mustprepare herself for action. She sat down opposite the little cheerfulfire which, warm though the night was, was grateful to her in herchilled state of mind and body. Looking into its light she allowedthought to have full dominion over her. Hitherto, from the moment shehad read those words in her grandfather's will until this presentmoment, she had kept thought back. In the numbness which immediatelyfollowed the first shock, this was not so difficult. She had heard allSandy Wilson's words, but had only dimly followed out their meaning. Hewanted to meet her on the morrow. She had promised to meet him, as shewould have promised also to do anything else, however preposterous, atthat moment. Then she had felt a desire, more from the force of habitthan from any stronger motive, to go home. She had been met by HesterWright, and Hester had taken her to see her dying husband. She had stoodby the deathbed and looked into the dim and terrible eyes of death, andfelt as though a horrible nightmare was oppressing her, and then at lastshe had got away, and at last, at last she was at home. The luxuries ofher own refined and beautiful home surrounded her. She was seated in theroom where she had slept as a baby, as a child, as a girl; and now, nowshe must wake from this semi-dream, she must rouse herself, she mustthink it out. Hinton was right in saying that in a time of great troublea very noble part of Charlotte would awake; that in deep waters such anature as hers would rise, not sink. It was awakening now, and puttingforth its young wings, though its birth-throes were causing agony. "I_will_ look the facts boldly in the face, " she said once aloud, "even myown heart shall not accuse me of cowardice. " There were three factsconfronting this young woman, and one seemed nearly as terrible as theother. First, her father was guilty. During almost all the years of herlife he had been not an honorable, but a base man; he had, to enrichhimself, robbed the widow and the fatherless; he had grown wealthy ontheir poverty; he had left them to suffer, perhaps to die. The willwhich he had thought would never be read was there to prove histreachery. Believing that his fellow-trustee was dead, he had betrayedhis sacred trust. Charlotte could scarcely imagine a darker crime. Herfather, who looked so noble, who was so tender and good to her, who boreso high a character in the eyes of the world, was a very bad man. Thiswas her first fact. Her second seemed, just because of the first, even ashade darker. This father, whom she had loved, this poor, broken-down, guilty father, who, like a broken idol, had fallen from his high estatein her heart, was _dying_. Ah! she knew it now; that look on his oldface could only belong to the dying. How blind she had been! howignorant! But the Wrights' words had torn the veil from her eyes; theguilty man was going fast to judgment. The God whom he had sinnedagainst was about to demand retribution. Now she read the key to hisunhappiness, his despair. No wonder, no wonder, that like a canker ithad eaten into his heart. Her father was certainly dying; God himselfwas taking his punishment into His own hands. Charlotte's third fact, though the most absolutely personal of the whole, scarcely tortured heras the other two did to-night. It lay so clearly and so directly in herpath, that there was no pausing how best to act. The way for action wastoo clear to be even for an instant disobeyed. Into this fire she mustwalk without hesitation or pause. Her wedding-day could not be on thetwentieth; her engagement must be broken off; her marriage at an end. What! she, the daughter of a thief, ally herself to an upright, honorable man! Never! never! Whatever the consequences and the pain toeither, Hinton and she must part. She did not yet know how this partingwould be effected. She did not know whether she would say farewell toher lover telling him all the terrible and bitter disgrace, or with apoor and lame excuse on her lips. But however she did it, the thing mustbe done. Never, never, never would she drag the man she loved down intoher depths of shame. 

To-night she scarcely felt the full pain of this. It was almost arelief, in the midst of all the chaos, to have this settled line ofaction around which no doubt must linger. Yes, she would instantly breakoff her engagement. Now she turned her thoughts to her two former facts. Her father was guilty. Her father was dying. She, in an underhand way, for which even now she hated herself had discovered her father'slong-buried crime. But she had not alone discovered it. Another had alsogone to see that will in Somerset House; another with eyes far morepractised than hers had read those fatal words. And that other, he couldact. He would act; he would expose the guilty and dying old man, for hewas _the other trustee_. 

Charlotte was very ignorant as to how the law would act with regard tosuch a crime as her father's. Doubtless there would be a public trial, apublic disgrace. He would be dragged into the prisoner's dock; his oldwhite head would be bowed low there, and he was a dying man. 

In the first shock and horror of finding that the father she had alwaysalmost worshipped could be guilty of such a terrible crime, a great rushof anger and almost hardness had steeled her heart against him; but nowtenderer feelings came back. Pity, sad-eyed and gentle, knocked at herheart, and when she let in pity, love quickly resumed its throne. Yes;whatever his crime, whatever his former life, she loved that old man. That white-headed, broken-hearted man, so close to the grave, was herfather, and she his only child. When she spoke to Sandy Wilson to-dayshe had felt no desire to save the guilty from his rightful fate. Butnow her feelings were different. A great cry arose in her heart on hisbehalf. Could she screen him? could she screen him from his fate? In heragony she rose and flung herself on her knees. "My God, help me; my God, don't forsake me; save my father. Save him, save him, save him. "

She felt a little calmer after this broken prayer, and something to dooccurred to her with its instant power of tranquillizing. She would findout the doctor whom her father consulted. She would ask Uncle Jasper. She would make him tell her, and she would visit this man early in themorning, and, whatever the consequence, learn the exact truth from hislips. It would help her in her interview later on with Mr. Wilson. Beyond this little immediate course of action, there was no lightwhatever; but she felt so far calmed, that, about two o'clock, she laydown and sleep came to her--healthy and dreamless sleep, which was sentdirect from God to put strength into the brave heart, to enable it tosuffer and endure. Many weeks before Mr. Home had said to CharlotteHarman, "You must keep the Christ bright within you. " Was His likenessto shine henceforth through all the rest of her life, in those frankeyes, that sweet face, that noble woman's heart, because of and throughthat great tribulation? We have heard tell of the white robes which theywear who go through it. Is it not worth while for so sacred a result toheat the furnace seven times?

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE DOCTOR'S VERDICT. 

In her terrible anger and despair Charlotte had almost forgotten UncleJasper; but when she came down to breakfast the following morning andsaw him there, for he had come to Prince's Gate early, and was standingwith her father on the hearthrug, she suddenly remembered that he toomust have been guilty; nay, worse, her father had never tried to deceiveher, and Uncle Jasper had. She remembered the lame story he had toldher about Mrs. Home; how fully she had believed that story, and how ithad comforted her heart at the time! Now she saw clearly its many flaws, and wondered at her own blindness. Charlotte had always been consideredan open creature--one so frank, so ingenuous, that her secrets, had sheever tried to have any, might be read like an open book; but last nightshe had learned to dissemble. She was glad when she entered the cheerfulbreakfast-room to find that she was able to put her hardly learnedlesson in practice. Knowing what she did, she could yet go up and kissher father, and allow her uncle to put his lips to her cheek. Shecertainly looked badly, but that was accounted for by the headache whichshe confessed still troubled her. She sat down opposite the tea-urn, andbreakfast was got through in such a manner that Mr. Harman noticednothing particular to be wrong. He always drove to the City now in hisown private carriage, and after he had gone Charlotte turned to Jasper. 

"Uncle Jasper, " she said, "you have deceived me. "

"Good heavens! how, Charlotte?" said the old uncle. 

"My father is _very_ ill. You have given me to understand that there wasnothing of serious consequence the matter with him. "

Uncle Jasper heaved a slight but still audible sigh of relief. Was thisall? These fears he might even yet quiet. 

"I have not deceived you, Charlotte, " he said, "for I do not believeyour father to be seriously ill. "

He fixed his keen gray eyes on her face as he spoke. She returned hisgaze without shrinking. 

"Still you do think him ill?" she said. 

"Well, any one to look at him must admit that he is not what he was. "

"Just so, Uncle Jasper. So you have told me very many times, when youhave feared my troubling him on certain matters. Now it has come to mefrom another source that he is very ill. My eyes have been opened, and Isee the fact myself. I wish to learn the simple and exact truth. I wishto see the doctor he has consulted. "

"How do you know he has consulted any?"

"Has he?"

Uncle Jasper was silent for a moment. He felt in a difficulty. DidCharlotte know the worst, she might postpone her marriage, the lastthing to be desired just now; and yet where had she got her information?It was awkward enough, though he felt a certain sense of relief in thusaccounting for the change in her appearance since yesterday morning. Hegot up and approached her side softly. 

"My dear, I do own that your father is ill. I own, too, that I have, byhis most express wish, made as light of the matter to you as I could. The fact is, Charlotte, he is anxious, very anxious, about himself. Hethinks himself much worse than I believe him to be; but his strongestdesire is, that now, on the eve of your marriage, you should not bealarmed on his account. I firmly believe you have no cause for anyspecial fear. Ought you not to respect his wishes, and rest satisfiedwithout seeking to know more than he and I tell you? I will swear, Charlotte, if that is any consolation to you, that I am not immediatelyanxious about your father. "

"You need not swear, Uncle Jasper. Your not being anxious does notprevent my being so. I am determined to find out the exact truth. If hethinks himself very ill he has, of course, consulted some medical man. If you will not tell me his name I will myself ask my father to do soto-night. "

"By so doing you will shock him, and the doctor does not wish him to beshocked. "

"Just so, Uncle Jasper, and you can spare him that by telling me whatyou know. "

"My dear niece, if you _will_ have it?"

"I certainly am quite resolved, uncle. "

"Well, well, you approach this subject at your peril. If you _must_ seethe doctor you must. Wilful woman over again. Would you like me to gowith you?"

"No, thank you; I prefer to go alone. What is the doctor's name?"

"Sir George Anderson, of B---- Street. "

"I will go to him at once, " said Charlotte. 

She left the room instantly, though she heard her uncle calling herback. Yes, she would go to Sir George at once. She pulled out her watch, ran upstairs, put on some out-door dress, and in ten minutes from thetime she had learned the name of the great physician was in a hansomdriving to his house. This rapid action was a relief to her. Presentlyshe arrived at her destination. Yes, the doctor was at home. He wasengaged for the present with another patient, but if Charlotte liked towait he would see her in her turn. Certainly she would wait. She gaveher card to the man who admitted her, and was shown into a room, verydark and dismal, where three or four patients were already enduring atime of suspense waiting for their interviews. Charlotte, knowingnothing of illness, knew, if possible, still less of doctors' rooms. Asense of added depression came over her as she seated herself on thenearest chair, and glanced, from the weary and suffering faces of thosewho waited anxiously for their doom, to the periodicals and newspaperspiled on the table. A gentleman seated not far off handed her the lastnumber of the _Illustrated London News_. She took it, turning the pagesmechanically. To her dying day she never got over the dislike to thatspecial paper which that half hour created. 

One by one the patients' names were called by the grave footman as hecame to summon them. One by one they went away, and at last, at last, Charlotte's turn came. She had entered into conversation with a littlegirl of about sixteen, who appeared to be in consumption, and the littlegirl had praised the great physician in such terms that Charlotte feltmore than ever that against his opinion there could be no appeal. Andnow at last she was in the great man's presence, and, healthy girl thatshe was, her heart beat so loud, and her face grew so white, that thepractised eyes of the doctor might have been pardoned for mistaking herfor a _bona-fide_ patient. 

"What are you suffering from?" he asked of her. 

"It is not myself, Sir George, " she said, then making a great effort tocontrol her voice--"I have come about my father--my father is one ofyour patients. His name is Harman. "

Sir George turned to a large book at his side, opened it at a certainpage, read quietly for a moment, then closing it, fixed his keen eyes onthe young lady. 

"You are right, " he said, "your father, Mr. Harman, is one of mypatients. He came to see me no later than last week. "

"Sir, " said Charlotte, and her voice grew steadier and braver as shespoke, "I am in perfect health, and my father is ill. I have come hereto-day to learn from your lips the exact truth as to his case. "

"The exact truth?" said the doctor. "Does your father know you have comehere, Miss--Miss Harman?"

"He does not, Sir George. My father is a widower, and I am his onlychild. He has endeavored to keep this thing from me, and hitherto haspartially succeeded. Yesterday, through another source, I learned thathe is very seriously ill. I have come to you to know the truth. You willtell it to me, will you not?"

"I certainly _can_ tell it to you. "

"And you will?"

"Well, the fact is, Miss Harman, he is anxious that you should not know. I am scarcely prepared to fathom your strength of character. Any shockwill be of serious consequence to him. How can I tell how you will actwhen you know all?"

"You are preparing me for the worst now, Sir George. I solemnly promiseyou in no way to use my knowledge so as to give my father the slightestshock. "

"I believe you, " answered the doctor. "A brave woman can do wonders. Women are unselfish; they can hide their own feelings to comfort andsuccor another. Miss Harman, I am sorry for you, I have bad news foryou. "

"I know it, Sir George. My father is very ill. "

"Your father is as seriously ill as a man can be to be alive; in short, he is--dying. "

"Is there no hope?"

"None. "

"Must he die soon?" asked Charlotte, after a brief pause. 

"That depends. His malady is of such a nature that any sudden shock, anysudden grief will probably kill him instantly. If his mind is keptperfectly calm, and all shocks are kept from him, he may live for manymonths. "

"Oh! terrible!" cried Charlotte. 

She covered her face. When she raised it at last it looked quite haggardand old. 

"Sir George, " she said, "I do not doubt that in your position as adoctor you have come across some secrets. I am going to confide in you, to confide in you to a certain measure. "

"Your confidence shall be sacred, my dear young lady. "

"Yesterday, Sir George, I learned something, something which concerns myfather. It concerns him most nearly and most painfully. It relates to anold and buried wrong. This wrong relates to others; it relates to thosenow living most nearly and most painfully. "

"Is it a money matter?" asked the doctor. 

"It is a money matter. My father alone can set it right. I mean thatduring his lifetime it cannot possibly in any way be set right withouthis knowledge. Almost all my life, he has kept this thing a secret fromme and--and--from the world. For three and twenty years it has lain in agrave. If he is told now, and the wrong cannot be repaired without hisknowledge, it will come on him as a--disgrace. The question I ask of youis this: can he bear the disgrace?"

"And my answer to you, Miss Harman, is, that in his state of health theknowledge you speak of will instantly kill him. "

"Then--then--God help me! what am I to do? Can the wrong never berighted?"

"My dear young lady, I am sincerely sorry for you. I cannot enter intothe moral question, I can only state a fact. As your father's physicianI forbid you to tell him. "

"You forbid me to tell him?" said Charlotte. She got up and pulled downher veil. "Thank you, " she said, holding out her hand. "I have that togo on--as my father's physician you forbid him to know?"

"I forbid it absolutely. Such a knowledge would cause instant death. "

CHAPTER XXXIX

PUZZLED. 

The old Australian Alexander Wilson, had left his niece, Charlotte Home, after his first interview with her, in a very disturbed state of mind. More disturbed indeed was he than by the news of his sister's death. Hewas a rich man now, having been successful in the land of hisbanishment, and having returned to his native land the possessor of amoderate fortune. He had never married, and he meant to live with Daisyand share his wealth with her. But in these day-dreams he had onlythought of his money as giving some added comforts to his rich littlesister, enabling her to have a house in London for the season, and, while living in the country, to add more horses to her establishment andmore conservatories to build and tend. His money should add to herluxuries and, consequently, to her comforts. He had never heard of thisunforgotten sister for three and twenty years, the strange dislike towrite home having grown upon him as time went on but though he knewnothing about her, he many a time in his own wild and solitary lifepictured her as he saw her last. Daisy never grew old to him. Death andDaisy were not connected. Daisy in his imagination was always young, always girlish always fresh and beautiful. He saw her as he saw her lastin her beautiful country home standing by her rich husband's side, looking more like his daughter than his wife. No, Sandy never dreamedthat Daisy would or could die, but in thinking of her he believed her tobe a widow. That husband, so old, when he went away, must be dead. 

On his arrival in England, Sandy went down into Hertfortshire. Hevisited the place where he had last seen his sister. It was in the handsof strangers--sold long ago. No one even remembered the name of Harman. Then he met little Daisy Home, and learned quite by accident that hisDaisy was dead, and that the pretty child who reminded him of her washer grandchild. He went to visit Charlotte Home, and there made a freshdiscovery. Had his Daisy been alive she would have wanted far more fromhis well-filled purse than horses and carriages. She would have needednot the luxuries of life, but the necessities. He had imagined her rich, while she had died in poverty. She had died poor, and her child, heronly child, bore evident marks of having met face to face with thesorest of all want, that which attacks the gently born. Her face, stillyoung, but sadly thin and worn, the very look in her eyes told this factto Sandy. 

Yes; his pretty Daisy, whom he had imagined so rich, so bountifullyprovided for, had died a very poor and struggling woman. Doubtless thissad and dreadful fact had shortened her days. Doubtless but for thismonstrous injustice she would be alive now, ready to welcome herlong-lost brother back to his native land. 

All that night Sandy Wilson lay awake. He was a hale and hearty man, andseldom knew what it was to toss for any time on his pillow; but soshocked was he, that this night no repose would visit him. An injusticehad been done, a fraud committed, and it remained for him to find outthe evil thing, to drag it to the light, to set the wronged right oncemore. Charlotte Home was not at all the character he could bestunderstand. She was not in the least like her mother. She told the taleof her wrongs with a strange and manifest reluctance. She believed thata fraud had been committed. She was fully persuaded that not herlong-dead father but her living half-brothers were the guilty parties. In this belief Sandy most absolutely shared. He longed to drag thesevillains into the glaring light of justice, to expose them and theirdisgraceful secret to the shameful light of day. But in this longing hesaw plainly that Charlotte did not share. He was puzzled, scarcelypleased that this was so. How differently little Daisy would have actedhad she been alive. Dear little innocent Daisy, who all alone could donothing, would in his strong presence have grown so brave and fearless. She would have put the case absolutely and once for all into his hands. Now this her daughter did not seem disposed to do. She said to him, withmost manifest anxiety, "You will do nothing without me. You will donothing until we meet again. "

This he had promised readily enough, for what _could_ he do in the shorthours which must elapse between now and their next meeting? As he wasdressing, however, on the following morning, a sudden idea did occur tohim, and on this idea he resolved to act before he saw Charlotte at sixo'clock in the evening. He would go to Somerset House and see Mr. Harman's will. What Daisy first, and now Charlotte, had never thought ofdoing during all these years he would do that very day. Thus he wouldgain certain and definite information. With this information it would becomparatively easy to know best how to act. 

He went to Somerset House. He saw the will; he saw the greatness of therobbery committed so many years ago; he saw and he felt a wild kind ofalmost savage delight in the fact that he could quickly and easily setthe wrong right, for he was one of the trustees. He saw all this, andyet--and yet--he went away a very unhappy and perplexed man, for he hadseen something else--he had seen a woman's agony and despair. SandyWilson possessed the very softest soul that had ever been put into a bigbody. He never could bear to see even a dog in pain. How then could helook at the face of this girl which, all in a moment, under his veryeyes, had been blanched with agony? He could not bear it. He forgot hisfierce longing for revenge, he forgot his niece Charlotte's wrongs, inthis sudden and passionate desire to succor the other Charlotte, thedaughter of the bad man who had robbed his own sister, his own niece; hebecame positively anxious that Miss Harman should not commit herself;he felt a nervous fear as each word dropped from her lips; he saw thatshe spoke in the extremity of despair. How could he stop the words whichtold too much? He was relieved when the thought occurred to him to askher to meet him again--again when they both were calmer. She hadconsented, and he found himself advising her, as he would have advisedhis own dear daughter had he been lucky enough to have possessed one. Hepromised her that nothing, nothing should be done until they met again, and so afraid was he that in his interview that evening with his niece, Mrs. Home, he might be tempted to drop some word which might betray everso little that other Charlotte, that instead of going to Tremin's Roadas he had intended, he wrote a note excusing himself and putting off hispromised visit until the following evening. 

CHAPTER XL. 

CHARLOTTE'S PLEA. 

When at last the time drew near for him to bend his steps in thedirection of Somerset House he had by no means made up his mind how toact. His sympathies were still with Miss Harman. Her face had hauntedhim all night long; but he felt that every sense of justice, every senseof right, called upon him to befriend Mrs. Home. His dearly loved deadsister seemed to call to him from her grave and to ask him to rescuethose belonging to her, to give again to these wronged ones what wasrightfully theirs. In any case, seeing the wrong as he so plainly did, he would have felt called upon to take his sister's part in the matter. But as circumstances now stood, even had Mrs. Home been no relation tohim whatever, he still must have acted for her and her alone. For was henot the _other trustee_? and did not the very law of the land of hisbirth demand that he should see that the terms of the will were carriedout?

He arrived at the square of Somerset House, and found Miss Harmanwaiting for him. 

She came up to him at once and held out her hand. His quick eyedetected at a glance that she was now quite calm and collected, thatwhatever she might have done in the first agony of her despairyesterday, to-day she would do nothing to betray herself. Strange tosay, he liked her far less well in this mood than he had done yesterday, and his heart and inclination veered round again to his wronged nieceand her children with a sense of pleasure and almost triumph. 

They began to walk up and down, and Miss Harman, finding that hercompanion was silent, was the first to speak. 

"You asked me to meet you here to-day. What do you want to say to me?"

Good heavens! was she going to ride the high horse over him in thisstyle? Sandy's small eyes almost flashed as he turned to look at her. 

"A monstrous wrong has been done, Miss Harman, " he answered. "I havecome to talk about that. "

"I know, " replied Charlotte. "I have thought it all out. I know exactlywhat has been done. My grandfather died and left a sum of twelvehundred a year to my--to his wife. He left other moneys to my fatherand his brother. My father and his brother, my uncle, disregarded theclaims of the widow and the orphan child. They appropriated themoney--they--_stole it_--giving to my grandfather's widow a small sumduring her life, which small sum they did not even allow to be retainedby her child. "

"That is pretty much the case, young lady. You have read the will withtolerable accuracy. "

"I do not know in the least how the deed was done, " continued Charlotte. "How such a crime could be committed and yet lie hidden all these yearsremains a terrible and mysterious thing to me. But that it was done, Ican but use my own eyes in reading my grandfather's will to see. "

"It was done easily enough, Miss Harman. They thought the other trusteewas dead. Your father and his brother were false to their trust, andthey never reckoned that Sandy Wilson would come back all alive andblooming one fine morning--Sandy, whose duty it is to see this greatwrong put right. "

"Yes, it is your duty, " said Charlotte; and now, again, she grew verywhite; her eyes sought the ground and she was silent. 

"It is my most plain duty, " repeated Wilson, shuffling with his greatfeet as he walked by her side. 

"I should like to know what steps you mean to take, " continuedCharlotte, suddenly raising her eyes to his face. 

"Steps! Good gracious! young lady, I have not had time to go into thelaw of the thing. Besides, I promised to do nothing until we met again. But one thing is plain enough, and obvious enough--my niece, that youngwoman who might have been rich, but who is so poor--that young womanmust come in for her own again. It is three-and-twenty years since herfather died. She must receive from your father that money with all backinterest for the last three and twenty years. That means a goodish bitof money I can tell you. "

"I have no doubt it does, " replied Charlotte. "Mrs. Home shall have itall. "

"Well, I hope so, young lady, and soon, too. It seems to me she has hadher share of poverty. "

"She has had, as you say, her share of that evil. Mr. Wilson, " againraising her eyes to his face, "I know Mrs. Home. "

"You know her? You know my niece Charlotte personally? She did not tellme that. "

"Yes, I know her. I should like to see her now. "

"You would?--I am surprised! Why?"

"That I might go down on my knees to her. "

"Well, good gracious! young lady, I supposed you might feel sorry, but Idid not know you would humble yourself to that extent. It was not _your_sin. "

"Hush! It was my father's sin. I am his child. I would go lower than myknees--I would lie on the ground that she might walk over me, if thebetter in that position I might plead for mercy. "

"For mercy? Ay, that's all very well, but Charlotte must have herrights. Sandy Wilson must see to that. "

"She shall have her rights! And yet I would see her if I could, and if Isaw her I would go on my knees and plead for mercy. "

"I don't understand you, Miss Harman. "

"I do not suppose you do. Will you have patience with me while I explainmyself?"

"I have come here to talk to you and to listen to you, " said Wilson. 

"Sir, I must tell you of my father, that man whom you (and I do notwonder) consider so bad--so low! When I read that will yesterday--when Isaw with my own eyes what a fraud had been committed, what a great, great evil had been done, I felt in my first misery that I almost hatedmy father! I said to myself, 'Let him be punished!' I would have helpedyou then to bring him to punishment. I think you saw that?"

"I did, Miss Harman. I can see as far through a stone wall as mostpeople. I saw that you were a bit stunned, and I thought it but fairthat you should have time to calm down. "

"You were kind to me. You acted as a good man and a gentleman. Then Iscarcely cared what happened to my father; now I do. "

"Ay, ay, young lady, natural feelings must return. I am very sorry foryou. "

"Mr. Wilson, I hope to make you yet more sorry. I must tell you more. When I saw you yesterday I knew that my father was ill--I knew that hewas in appearance an old man, a broken down man, a very unhappy man; butsince I saw you yesterday I have learned that he is a dying man--thatold man against whom I hardened my heart so yesterday is going fast tojudgment. The knowledge of this was kept from me, for my father so lovedme, so guarded me all my life that he could not bear that even a pin'spoint of sorrow should rest upon me. After seeing you yesterday, andleaving you, I visited some poor people who, not knowing that the truthwas hidden from me, spoke of it as a well known fact. I went away fromthem with my eyes opened. I only wondered they had been closed so long. I went away, and this morning I did more. I visited one of the greatestand cleverest doctors in London. This doctor my father, unknown to me, had for some time consulted. I asked him for his candid opinion on myfather's case. He gave it to me. Nothing can save my father. My fathermust die! But he told me more; he said that the nature of his complaintwas such that any shock must instantly kill him. He said without thatshock he may live for months; not many months, but still for a few. Hearing this, I took the doctor still further into my confidence. I toldhim that a wrong had been committed--that during my father's lifetimethat wrong could not be set right without his knowledge. I said that hemust know something which would disgrace him. His answer was this: 'Ashis medical man, I forbid him to know; such a knowledge will causecertain and instant death. '"

Charlotte paused. Wilson, now deeply interested, even appalled, wasgazing at her earnestly. 

"I know Charlotte Home, " continued Miss Harman; "and, as I said justnow, I would see her now. Yes, she has needed money; she has longed formoney; she has been cruelly wronged--most cruelly treated! Still, Ithink, if I pleaded long enough and hard enough, she would have mercy;she would not hurry that old man to so swift a judgment; she would sparehim for those few, few months to which his life is now limited. It isfor those months I plead. He is a dying man. I want nothing to be doneduring those months. Afterwards--afterwards I will promise, if necessarysign any legal paper you bring to me, that all that should have beenhers shall be Charlotte Home's--I restore it all! Oh, how swiftly andhow gladly! All I plead for are those few months. "

Wilson was silent. 

Charlotte suddenly looking at him almost lost her self-control. 

"Must I go down on my knees to you, sir? I will if it is necessary. Iwill here--even here do so, if it is necessary. "

"It is not, it is not, my dear Miss Harman. I believe you; from my soulI pity you! I will do what I can. I can't promise anything without myniece's permission; but I am to see her this evening. "

"Oh, if you plead with her, she will have mercy; for I know her--I amsure of her! Oh! how can I thank you?--how can I thank you both?"

Here some tears rose to Charlotte's eyes, and rolled fast and heavilydown her cheeks. She put up her handkerchief to wipe them away. 

"You asked me to cry yesterday, but I could not; now I believe I shallbe able, " she said with almost a smile. "God bless you!"

Before Wilson could get in another word she had left him and, hurryingthrough the square, was lost to sight. 

Wilson gazed after her retreating form; then he went into SomersetHouse, and once more long and carefully studied Mr. Harman's will. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

NO WEDDING ON THE TWENTIETH. 

Charlotte was quite right in saying that now she could cry; a greattension had been removed, an immediate agony lightened. From the timeshe had left the doctor's presence until she had met Sandy Wilson, mostintolerable had been her feelings. She would sink all pride when she sawhim; for her father's sake, she would plead for mercy; but knowingnothing of the character of the man, how could she tell that she wouldbe successful? How could she tell that he might not harden his heartagainst her plea? When she left him, however, she knew that her causewas won. Charlotte Home was to be the arbitrator of her fate; she hadnever in all her life seen such a hunger for money in any eyes as shehad done in Charlotte's, and yet she felt a moral certainty that withCharlotte she was safe. In the immediate relief of this she could cry, and those tears were delicious to her. Returning from her drive, and inthe solitude of her own room, she indulged in them, weeping on until nomore tears would flow. They took the maddening pressure of heart andbrain, and after them she felt strong and even calm. She had washed herface and smoothed her hair, and though she could not at once remove alltrace of the storm through which she had just passed, she still lookedbetter than she had done at breakfast that morning, when a tap came toher door, and Ward, her maid, waited outside. 

"If you please, Miss Harman, the dressmaker has called again. Will youhave the wedding dress fitted now?"

At the same instant and before Charlotte could reply, a footman appearedat the head of the stairs--"Mr. Hinton had arrived and was waiting forMiss Harman, in her own sitting-room. "

"Say, I will be with him directly, " she answered to the man, then sheturned to Ward. "I will send you with a message to the dressmaker thisevening; tell her I am engaged now. "

The two messengers left, and Charlotte turned back into her room. Shehad to go through another fire. Well! the sooner it was over the better. She scarcely would give herself time for any thought as she ran quicklydown the stairs and along the familiar corridor, and in a moment foundherself in Hinton's presence. They had not met since yesterday morning, when they had parted in apparent coldness; but Hinton had long forgottenit, and now, when he saw her face, a great terror of pity and love cameover him. 

"My darling! my own darling!" he said. He came up to her and put hisarms round her. "Charlotte, what is it? You are in trouble? Tell me. "

Ah! how sweet it was to feel the pressure of his arms, to lay her headon his breast. She was silent for quite a minute, saying to herself, "Itis for the last time. "

"You are in great trouble, Charlotte? Charlotte, what is it?" questionedher lover. 

"Yes, I am in great trouble, " she said then, raising her head andlooking at him. Her eyes were clear and frank and open as of old, andyet at that moment she meant to deceive him; she would not tell him thereal reason which induced her to break off her engagement. She wouldshelter her father in the eyes of the man she loved, at any cost. 

"You are in great trouble, " he repeated, seeing that she paused. 

"Yes, John--for myself--for my father--for--for you. Dear John, wecannot be married on the twentieth, we must part. "

"Charlotte!" he stepped back a pace or two in his astonishment, and herarms fell heavily to her sides. "Charlotte!" he repeated; he had failedto understand her. He gave a short laugh. 

She began to tremble when she heard him laugh, and seeing a chair near, she sunk into it. "Yes, John, we must part, " she repeated. 

He went down on his knees then by her side, and looked into her face. "My poor darling, you are really not well; you are in trouble, and don'tknow what you are saying. Tell me all your trouble, Charlotte, but don'tmind those other words. It is impossible that you and I can part. Havewe not plighted our troth before God? We cannot take that back. Therefore we cannot part. "

"In heart we may be one, but outwardly we must part, " she repeated, andthen she began to cry feebly, for she was all unstrung. Hinton's wordswere too much for her. 

"Tell me all, " he said then, very tenderly. 

"John, a dark thing was kept from me, but I have discovered it. Myfather is dying. How can I marry on the twentieth, when my father isdying?"

Hinton instantly felt a sense of relief. Was this all the meaning ofthis great trouble? This objection meant, at the most, postponement, scarcely that, when Charlotte knew all. 

"How did you learn that about your father?" he said. 

"I went to see some poor people yesterday, and they told me; but thatwas not enough. To-day I visited the great doctor. My father has seenSir George Anderson; he told me all. My father is a dying man. John, canyou ask me to marry when my father is dying?"

"I could not, Charlotte, if it were not his own wish. "

"His own wish?" she repeated. 

"Yes! some time ago he told me of this; he said the one great thing helonged for was to see you and me--you and me, my own Charlotte--husbandand wife before he died. "

"Why did he keep his state of health as a secret from me?"

"I begged of him to tell you, but he wanted you to be his own brightCharlotte to the end. "

Then Hinton told her of that first interview he had with her father. Hetold it well, but she hardly listened. Must she tell him the truth afterall? No! she would not. During her father's lifetime she would shieldhim at any cost. Afterwards, ah! afterwards all the world would know. 

When Hinton had ceased speaking, she laid her hand on his arm. "Nevertheless, my darling, I cannot marry next week. I know you willfail to understand me. I know my father will fail to understand me. Thatis hard--the hardest part, but I am doing right. Some day you willacknowledge that. With my father dying I cannot stand up in white andcall myself a bride. My marriage-day was to have been the entrance intoParadise to me. With a funeral so near, and so certain, it cannot bethat. John--John--I--cannot--I cannot. We must not marry next week. "

"You put it off, then? You deny your dying father his dearest wish? Thatis not like you, Charlotte. "

"No, it is unlike me. Everything, always, again, will be unlike me. Ifyou put it so, I deny my father his dearest wish. "

"Charlotte, I fail to understand you. You will not marry during yourfather's lifetime. But it may be very quiet--very--very quiet, I canmanage that; and you need not leave him, you can still be altogether hisdaughter, and yet make him happy by letting him feel that you are alsomy wife; that I have the right to shield you, the right to love andcomfort you. Come, Charlotte! come, my darling! we won't have anyoutward festivity, any outward rejoicing. This is but natural, this canbe managed, and yet we may have that which is above and beyond itall--one another. We may be one in our sorrow instead of our joy. "

"Oh! if it could be, " she sobbed; and now again she laid her head on hisshoulder. 

"It shall be, Charlotte; we will marry like that on the twentieth. Iwill manage it with your father. "

"No John! no, my dearest, my best beloved, I cannot be your wife. Lovingyou as I never--never--loved you before, I give you up; it is worse thanthe agony of death to me. But I give you up. "

"You postpone our marriage during your father's lifetime?"

"I postpone it--I do more--I break it off. Oh! John, don't look at melike that; pity me--pity me, my heart will break. "

But he had pushed her a little away from him. Pale as death he rose tohis feet. "Charlotte! you are deceiving me; you have another reason forthis?"

"If you will have it so, " she said. 

"You are keeping a secret from me. "

"I do not say so, but you are likely enough to think this, " sherepeated. 

"Can you deny it?"

"I will not try, I know we must part. "

"If this is so, we must. A secret between husband and wife is fatal. "

"It would be, but I admit nothing, we cannot be husband and wife. "

"Never, Charlotte?"

"Never!" she said. 

Hinton thought for a moment, and then he came up and again took herhand. "Lottie, tell me that secret; trust me; I know there is a secret, tell it to me, all of it, let me decide whether it must part us. "

"I cannot, my darling--my darling--I can say nothing, explain nothing, except that you and I must part. "

"If that is so, we must, " he said. 

He was pained, shocked, and angry, beyond words. He left the room andthe house without even another look. 

CHAPTER XLII. 

"I LOVE HIM, " SHE ANSWERED. 

That evening Charlotte came softly into her father's study and sat downby his side. She had not appeared at dinner-time, sending anotherexcuse. She was not very well, she said; she would see her father laterin the evening. But as she could not eat, she did not care to come todinner. She would like to see her father quite alone afterwards. Charlotte had worded this verbal message with great care, for she wishedto prepare her father for something of extra importance. Even with thetenderest watching it was impossible to avoid disturbing him a little, and she wished to prepare him for the very slight but unavoidable shockshe must give. Jasper dined at Prince's Gate as usual. But after dinnerhe went away. And Charlotte, when she knew this, instantly went down toher father. She was now perfectly calm. For the time being had forgottenherself absolutely. Nothing gives outward composure likeself-forgetfulness, like putting yourself in your fellow-man's place. Charlotte had done this when she stepped up to her old father's side. She had dressed herself, too, with special thought for him. There was amuslin frock, quite clear and simple, which he had loved. It was a softIndian fabric, and clung to her fine figure in graceful folds. She hadmade Ward iron it out, and had put it on. Of late she had considered ittoo girlish, but to-night she appeared in it knowing it would please theeyes for which it was worn. 

Mr. Harman was chilly and sat by the fire. As usual the room was softlybut abundantly lit by candles. Charlotte loved light, and, as a rule, hated to talk to any one without looking at that person fully. Butto-night an opposite motive caused her to put out one by one all thecandles. 

"Does not the room look cosy with only the firelight?" she said. Andthen she sat down on a low stool at her father's feet. 

"You are better now, my love. Tell me you are better, " he said, takingher hand in his. 

"I am well enough to sit and talk to you, father, " she said. 

"But what ailed you, Lottie? You could not come to dinner eitheryesterday or to-day; and I remember you looked ill this morning. What iswrong?"

"I felt troubled, and that has brought on a headache. But don't let ustalk about me. I mean, I suppose we must after a little, but not atfirst. "

"Whom shall we talk about first? Who is more important? Is it Hinton?You cannot get _me_ to think that Charlotte. "

"You are more important. I want to talk about you. "

Now she got hold of his hand, and, turning round, gazed firmly into hisface. 

"Father, you have troubled me. You have caused my headache. "

Instantly a startled look came into his eyes; and she, reading himnow--as, alas! she knew how to do but too well--hastened to soothe it. 

"You wanted to send me away, to make me less your own, if that werepossible. Father, I have come here to-night to tell you that I am notgoing away--that I am all your own, even to the end. "

"My own to the end? Yes, you must always be that. But what do you mean?"

She felt the hand she held trembling, and hastened to add, --

"Why did you keep the truth from me? Why did you try to deceive me, yournearest and dearest, as to your state of health? But I know it all now. I am not going away from you. "

"You mean--you mean, Charlotte, you will not marry Hinton next week?"

"No, father. "

"Have you told him?"

"Yes. "

"Charlotte, do you know the worst about me?"

"I know all about you. I went to see Sir George Anderson this morning. Iforced from him the opinion he has already given to you. He says that Icannot keep you long. But while I can, we will never part. "

Mr. Harman's hand had now ceased to tremble. It lay warm and quiet inhis daughter's clasp. After a time he said--

"Put your arms round me darling. "

She rose to her feet, clasped her hands round his neck, and laid herhead on his shoulder. In this position he kissed first her bright hair, then her cheek and brow. 

"But I want my little girl to leave me, " he said. "Illness need not makeme selfish. You can still be my one only dear daughter, and yet beHinton's wife. "

"I am your only dear daughter, " she repeated. "Never mind about my beingany man's wife. " She tried to smile as she resumed her seat at his feet. 

Mr. Harman saw the attempt at a smile, and it instantly strengthened himto proceed. 

"Charlotte, I am not sorry that you know that which I had not courageeither to tell you or to cause another to tell you. I am--yes, I amdying. Some day before long I must leave you, my darling. I must go awayand return no more. But before I die I want to see you Hinton's wife. Itwill make me happier to see this, for you love him, and he can make youhappy. You do love him, Charlotte?"

"Yes, I love him, " she answered. 

"Then we will not postpone the marriage. My child shall marry the manshe loves, and have the strength of his love in the dark days that mustfollow; and in one week you will be back with me, no less my childbecause you are Hinton's wife. "

"Father, I cannot. "

"Not if I wish it, dear--if I have set my heart on it?"

"I cannot, " she repeated. 

She felt driven to her wits' end, and pressed her hands to her face. 

"Charlotte, what is the meaning of this? There is more here than meetsthe eye. Have you and Hinton quarrelled?"

"No, except over this. And even over this it takes two to make aquarrel. I cannot marry next week; I have told him so. He is vexed, andyou--you are vexed. Must I break my heart and leave you? You have alwaysgiven me my own way; give it now. Don't send me away from you. It wouldbreak my heart to marry and leave you now. "

"Is this indeed so, Charlotte?" he said. "Would you with your wholeheart rather put it off?"

"With my whole, whole heart, I would rather, " she said. 

"I will not urge it. I cannot; and yet it destroys a hope which Ithought might cheer me on my dying bed. "

"Never mind the hope, father; you will have me. I shall not spend thatweek away from you. "

"No, that week did seem long to look forward to. "

"Ah! you are glad after all that I am to be with you, " she said. "Youwill let me nurse you and care for you. You will not force yourself todo more than you are able. Now that I know all, I can take such care ofyou, and the thought of that will make me happier by and by. "

"It is a relief that you know the worst, " said Mr. Harman, but he didnot smile or look contented; he, as well as Hinton, felt that there wasmore in this strange desire of Charlotte's than met the eye. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

"YOU DON'T WANT MONEY?"

Sandy Wilson having again very carefully read Mr. Harman's will, feltmuch puzzled how to act. He was an honest, upright, practical manhimself. The greatness of the crime committed quite startled him. He hadno sympathy for the wicked men who had done the deed, and he had thevery keenest sympathy for those against whom the deed was done. Hislittle orphan and widowed sister and her baby child were the wrongedones. The men who had wronged her he had never seen. He said to himselfthat he had no sympathy, no sympathy whatever for Mr. Harman. What if hewas a dying man, was that fact to screen him? Was he to be allowed to godown to his grave in peace, his gray head appearing to be to him a crownof glory, honored by the world, cheered for his great success in life?Was all this to be allowed to continue when he was worthy not ofapplause but of hisses, of the world's most bitter opprobrium?

And yet Sandy felt that, little or indeed no pity as he had for thismost wicked man, even if Charlotte had not come to him and pleaded witheyes, voice, and manner he could scarcely have exposed Mr. Harman. Hecould scarcely, after hearing that great doctor's verdict, have gone upto the old man and said that which would hurry him without an instant'stime for repentance, to judgment. 

Alexander Wilson believed most fully in a judgment to come. When hethought of it now, a certain sense of relief came over him. He need nottrouble so sorely; he might leave this sinner to his God. It is to befeared that he thought more of God's justice than of His loving mercyand forgiveness, as he decided to leave John Harman in His hands. 

That evening at six o'clock he was to be again with Charlotte Home. ForCharlotte Harman's sake, he had denied himself that pleasure the nightbefore; but this evening the solitary man might enjoy the keen pleasureof being with his very own. Mrs. Home was his nearest livingrelation--the child of his own loved sister. He did not know yet whetherhe could love her at all as he had loved his little Daisy; but he feltquite sure that her children would twine themselves round his heart; foralready the remembrance of Daisy Home was causing it to beat high withpleasure. 

As the hour approached for his visit, he loaded himself with presentsnot only for the children, but for the whole family. He said to himselfwith much delight, that however much Mr. Harman's will might be tied upfor the present, yet Sandy Wilson's purse was open. He had far less ideathan Charlotte Harman what children really liked, but he loaded himselfwith toys, cakes, and sweeties; and for his special pet Daisy over andabove the other two he bought the very largest doll that a Regent Streetshop could furnish him with. This doll was as heavy as a baby, and by nomeans so beautiful to look at as its smaller companions. But Sandy wasno judge in such matters. 

With his presents for the adults of the party he was more fortunate. Forhis niece he purchased a black silk, which in softness, lustre, andquality could not be surpassed; for Mr. Home he bought two dozen veryold port; for Anne, a bright blue merino dress. 

These goods were packed into a four-wheeler, and, punctually at sixo'clock, that well-laden cab drew up at 10, Tremins Road. Three eagerpairs of eyes watched the unpacking, for the three pretty children, dressed in their best, were in the dining-room; Mr. Home was alsopresent, and Charlotte had laid her tea-table with several unwonteddainties in honor of her uncle's visit. Anne, the little maid, wasfluttering about; that well-laden cab had raised her spirits and herhopes. She flew in and out, helping the cabby to bring the numerousparcels into the hall. 

"Ah! Annie, my girl, here's something for you, " said Uncle Sandy, tossing her dress to her. After which, it is to be feared, Anne went offher head for a little bit. 

The children, headed by their mother, came into the little hall to meetand welcome their uncle. He entered the dining-room with Daisy riding onhis shoulder. Then before tea could even be thought of, the presentsmust be discussed. The cakes, the sweeties, the toys were opened out;the children scampered about, laughed, shouted, and kissed the oldAustralian. Never in all his life had Uncle Sandy felt so happy. 

Over an hour passed in this way, then the mother's firm voice was heard. The little heads were raised obediently. Good-night kisses were given, and Harold, Daisy, and little Angus were led off to their nursery by thehighly flushed and excited Anne. 

The tea which followed and the quiet talk were nearly as pleasant, andUncle Sandy so enjoyed himself, that for a time he completely forgot oldHarman's will, his own half promise, Charlotte Harman's despair. 

It was all brought back to him, however, and by the Homes themselves. The tea things had been removed, the gas was lit, the curtains drawn, and Charlotte Home had insisted on her old uncle seating himself in theone easy-chair which the room possessed. She herself stood on thehearthrug, and glancing for a moment at her husband she spoke. 

"Uncle Sandy, it is so good to have you back again, and Angus and I areso truly glad to welcome my dear mother's brother to our home, that wethink it hard to have to touch on anything the least gloomy to-night. Just a word or two will be sufficient, and then we must drop the subjectfor ever. "

Uncle Sandy raised his wrinkled old face. 

"Ah, " he said. "If there's anything unpleasant, have it cut by allmeans--out and over--that's my own motto. "

"We spoke the other night, " continued Charlotte, "about my dear mother. I told you that she was poor--that she had to do with poverty, from thehour of my father's death until the end of her own life. It is all overfor her now, she is at rest. If plenty of money could be found for hershe would not need it. When I told you the story you expressed a doubtthat all was not right; you said it was absolutely impossible that myfather could have left my mother nothing; you said that either the willwas tampered with or not acted on. Well, Uncle Sandy, I agree with you. I had long felt that something was not right. "

"Ay, ay, my girl; I said before, you had a brain in your head and a headon your shoulders. Trust Uncle Sandy not to know a clever woman when hesees her. "

"Well, uncle, I can say all the rest in a very few words. You said youcould investigate the matter; that you could discover whether any foulplay had been committed. I asked you not to do so until I saw you again;I now ask you not to do so at all; to let the whole matter rest always. In this I have my husband's sanction and wish. "

"Yes, Lottie has my full approval in this matter, " said Mr. Home, comingforward and laying his hand on his wife's shoulder. "We don't wantmoney, we would rather let the matter rest. "

"You don't want money!" said Uncle Sandy, gazing hard from the etherealworn-looking man, to the woman, tall and thin, in her rusty dress, withevery mark of poverty showing in thin cheek, in careworn eyes, inlabor-stained hands. "You don't want money!" he repeated. "NieceCharlotte, I retract what I said of you--I thought you were not quite afool. As to you, Home, I don't pretend to understand you. You don't wantmoney?"

Mr. Home smiled. Charlotte bent down and kissed her old uncle's brow. 

"Nevertheless, you will do what we wish, even though you don'tunderstand, " she said. 

Uncle Sandy took her hand. 

"Sit down near me, Niece Charlotte, " he said. "And as to you, Home, youhave a long story to hear. After you have heard it, it will be timeenough to discuss your proposition. The fact is, Charlotte, I disobeyedyou in part. You asked me to do nothing in this matter until we metagain. I did nothing to compromise you; but, nevertheless, I was notidle, I wanted to set my own mind at rest. There was an easy way ofdoing this which I knew of, and which I wondered had not occurred toyou. Charlotte, I went yesterday to Somerset House; doubtless, you knownothing of what took me there. I can soon enlighten you. In a certainpart of that vast pile, all wills are obliged to be kept. Anyone wholikes may go there, and, by paying the sum of one shilling, read anywill they desire. I did so. I went to Somerset House and I saw yourfather's will. "

"Yes, " said Charlotte. Whatever her previous resolution, she no doubtfelt keenly excited now. "Yes, " she repeated, "you read my father'swill. "

"I read it. I read it in a hurry yesterday; to-day I saw it again andread it carefully. There is no flaw in it; it is a will that must stand, that cannot be disputed. Charlotte, you were right in your forebodings. Niece Charlotte, you and your mother, before you, were basely robbed, cruelly wronged; your dead father was just and upright; your livingbrothers are villains; your father left, absolutely to your motherfirst, and to you at her death, the sum of twelve hundred a year. Heleft to you both a large enough sum of money to realize that largeyearly income. You were robbed of it. Do you know how?"

"No, " said Charlotte. She said that one little word almost in a whisper. Her face was deadly pale. 

"That money was left in your father's will in trust; it was confided tothe care of three men, whose solemn duty it was to realize it for yourmother first, afterwards for you and your children. Those men werecalled trustees; two of them, Charlotte, were your half-brothers, Johnand Jasper Harman; the other was your mother's only living brother, Sandy Wilson. These trustees were false to you: two of them by simplyignoring the trust and taking the money to themselves; the other, bypretending to be dead when he ought to have been in England attending tohis duty. The Harmans, the other trustees, so fully believed me to bedead that they thought their sin would never be found out. But theyreckoned without their host, for Sandy has returned, and the missingtrustee can act now. Better late than never--eh, Niece Charlotte?"

"My poor mother!" said Charlotte, "my poor, poor mother!"

She covered her face with her hands. The suddenness and greatness of thecrime done had agitated her. She was very much upset. Her husband cameagain very near and put his hand on her shoulder. His face, too, wastroubled. 

"It was a terrible sin, " he said, "a terrible sin to lie on these men'sbreasts for three and twenty years. God help these sinners torepentance!"

"Yes, God help them, " repeated Uncle Sandy, "and also those they havewronged. But now look up, Charlotte, for I have not told you all. A mannever sins for himself alone; if he did it would not so greatly matter, for God and the pangs of an evil conscience would make it impossible forhim to get off scot free; but--I found it out in the bush, where, I cantell you, I met rough folks enough--the innocent are dragged down withthe guilty. Now this is the case here. In exposing the guilty theinnocent must suffer. I don't mean you, my dear, nor my poor littlewronged Daisy. In both your cases the time for suffering, I trust, isquite at an end, but there is another victim. " Here Uncle Sandy paused, and Charlotte, having recovered her composure, stood upright on thehearthrug ready to listen. "When I went to Somerset House yesterday, Ihad, in order to obtain a sight of Mr. Harman's will, to go through alittle ceremony. It is not necessary to go into it. I had to get certainpapers, and take orders to certain rooms. All this was the little formimposed on me by the Government for my curiosity. At last I was told togo to a room, called the reading room, and asked to wait there until thewill was brought to me. It was a small room, and I sat down prepared towait patiently enough. There were about half-a-dozen people in the roombesides myself, some reading wills, others waiting until they werebrought. One woman sat at the table exactly opposite to me. She was theonly woman in the room at the time, and perhaps that fact made me firstnotice her; but when I looked once, I could not have been old SandyWilson without wanting to look again. I have a weakness for fine women, and this woman was fine, in the sense that makes you feel that she islovable. She was young, eager-looking. I have no doubt her features werehandsome, but it was her open, almost childlike expression whichattracted most. She was essentially a fine creature, and yet there was apeculiar childish innocence about her, that made old Sandy long toprotect her on the spot. I was looking at her, and hoping she would notnotice it and think old Sandy Wilson a bore, when a man came into theroom and said something to the clerk at the desk. The clerk turned to meand said, 'The will of the name of Harman is being read at this momentby some one else in the room. ' Instantly this girl looked up, her eyesmet mine, her face grew all one blaze of color, though she was a paleenough lass the moment before, and a frightened expression came into hereyes. She looked down again at once, and went on reading in a hurried, puzzled way, as if she was scarcely taking in much. Of course I knew shehad the will, and I did not want to hurry or confuse her, so Ipretended to turn my attention to something else. It must have beenquite a couple of minutes before I looked again, and then--I confessthat I am not easily startled, but I did have to smother anexclamation--the poor girl must have discovered the baseness and thefraud in those two minutes. Had she been any other but the plucky lassshe is, she would have been in a dead faint on the floor, for I never, never in all my pretty vast experience, saw a living face so white. Icould not help looking at her then, for I was completely fascinated. Shewent on reading for half a minute longer; then she raised her eyes andgazed straight and full at me. She had big, open gray eyes, and a momentbefore, they were full of innocence and trust like a child's, now therewas a wild anger and despair in them. She was quite quiet however, andno one else in the room noticed her. She pushed the will across thetable to me and said, "That is Mr. Harman's will, " then she put on hergloves quite slowly and drew down her veil, and left the room assedately and quietly as you please. I just glanced my eye over the will. I took in the right place and saw the shameful truth. I was horrifiedenough, but I could not wait to read it all. I gave the will backintending to go to it another time, for I felt I must follow that girlat any cost. I came up to her in Somerset House square. I did not carewhat she thought; I must speak to her; I did. Poor lass! I think she wasquite stunned. She did not resent the liberty old Sandy had taken. WhenI asked her to wait and let me talk to her she turned at once--I havenot lived in the bush so long without being, I pride myself, sharpenough in reading character. I saw the girl, proud girl enough atordinary times, was in that state of despair which makes people dodesperate things. She was defiant, and told more than I expected. Shewas Miss Harman--Charlotte Harman, by the way, she said. Yes; her fatherhad stolen that money; would I like to see him? he lived in such aplace; his name was so-and-so. Yes; she was his only child. Her mannerwas so reckless, so defiant, and yet so full of absolute misery, that Icould do nothing but pity her from my very heart. I forgot you, NieceLottie, and your rights, and everything but this fine creature strickenso low through another's sins. I said, 'Hush, you shall say no moreto-day. You are stunned, you are shocked, you must have time to think; Iwon't remember a thing you say about your father now. Go home and comeback again to-morrow, ' I said; 'sleep over it, and I will sleep over it, and I will meet you here to-morrow, when you are more calm. ' She agreedto this and went away. I felt a little compunction for my own softnessduring that evening and night, Niece Charlotte, I felt that I was notquite true to you; but then you had not seen her face, poor brave youngthing, poor young thing!"

Here Uncle Sandy paused and looked hard from his niece to her husband. Charlotte's eyes were full of tears, Mr. Home was smiling at him. Therewas something peculiar in this man's rare smiles which turned them intoblessings. They were far more eloquent than words, for they were fedfrom some illumination of strong approval within. Uncle Sandy, withoutunderstanding, felt a warm glow instantly kindling in his heart. 

Charlotte said, "Go on, " in a broken voice. 

"To-day, at the appointed hour, I met her again, " proceeded theAustralian. "She was changed, she was composed enough now, she was onher guard, she did not win my sympathy so much as in her despair. Shewas quite open, however, as to the nature of the crime committed, andtold me she knew well what a sin her father had been guilty of. Suddenlyshe startled me by saying that she knew you, Charlotte. She said shewished she could see you now. I asked her why. She said, 'That I mightgo down on my knees to her. ' I was surprised at such words coming fromso proud a creature. I said so. She repeated that she would go down onher knees that she might the better plead for mercy. I was beginning toharden my old heart at that, and to think badly of her, when she stoppedme, by telling me a strange and sad thing. She said that she haddiscovered something, something very terrible, between that hour andyesterday. Her father had been ill for some time, but the worst had beenkept from her. She said yesterday that a poor person let her know quiteaccidentally that he was not only ill but dying. She went alone thatmorning to consult a doctor, one of those first-rate doctors whose wordis law. Mr. Harman, it seemed, unknown to her, was one of this man'spatients. He told her that he was hopelessly ill; that he could onlylive for a few months, and that any shock might end his days in amoment. She then told this doctor in confidence something of what shehad discovered yesterday. He said, 'As his medical man, I forbid you totell to your father this discovery you have made; if you do so he willdie instantly. ' Miss Harman told me this strange tale, and then shebegan to plead with me. She begged of me to show mercy; not to doanything in this matter during the few months which still remained ofher father's life. Afterwards, she promised to restore all, and morethan all of what had been stolen. I hesitated; I scarcely knew how toproceed. She saw it and exclaimed, 'Do you want me to go on my knees toyou? I will this moment, and here. ' Then I said I could do nothingwithout consulting you, I could do nothing without your consent. Instantly the poor thing's whole face changed--I never saw such a changefrom despair to relief. She held out her hand to me; she said she wassafe; she said she knew you; and that with you she was safe. She saidshe never saw any one in her life seem to want money so badly as you;but for all that, with you she was quite safe. She looked so thankful. 'I can cry now, ' she said as she went away. " Uncle Sandy paused again, and again looked at his niece and her husband. "I told her that I wouldcome to you to-night, " he said, "that I would plead her cause, and Ihave, have I not?"

"Well and nobly, " answered Mrs. Home. "Angus, think of her trusting me!I am so glad she could trust me. Indeed she is safe with us. "

"How soon can you go to her in the morning, Lottie?" asked the curate. 

"With the first dawn I should like to go, I only wish I could fly to hernow. Oh, Angus! what she must suffer; and next Tuesday is to be herwedding-day. How my heart does ache for her! But I am glad she trustsme. "

Here Mrs. Home become so excited that a great flood of tears came intoher eyes. She must cry them away in private. She left the room, and thecurate, sitting down, told to Uncle Sandy how Charlotte Harman had savedlittle Harold's life. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

LOVE BEFORE GOLD. 

For the first time in all her life, Mrs. Home laid her head on herpillow with the knowledge that she was a rich woman. Those good thingswhich money can buy could be hers; her husband need want no more; herchildren might be so trained, so nurtured, so carefully tended thattheir beauty, their beauty both physical and moral, would be seen inclearest lustre. How often she had dreamed of the possibility of such atime arriving, and now at last it had come. Ever since her dying motherhad told her own true history, she had dwelt upon this possible moment, dwelt upon it with many murmurings, many heart frettings. Could it berealized, she would be the happiest of women. Then she had decided togive it all up, to put the golden dream quite out of her life and, behold! she had scarcely done so before it had come true, the dream wasa reality, the riches lay at her feet. In no way through herinterference had this come about. Yes, but in the moment of her victorythe woman who had so longed for money was very miserable; like Dead Seaapples was the taste of this eagerly desired fruit. She was enrichedthrough another's anguish and despair, through the wrecking of another'shappiness, and that other had saved the life of her child. Only onething comforted Charlotte Home during the long hours of that wearynight; Charlotte Harman had said. --

"With her I am safe; dearly as she loves money, with her I am quitesafe. "

Mrs. Home thought the slow moments would never fly until she was withthe sister friend, who in her own bitter humiliation and shame couldtrust her. In the morning, she and her husband had a talk together. Thenhurrying through her household duties, she started at a still very earlyhour for Prince's Gate. She arrived there before ten o'clock, and as shemounted the steps and pulled the ponderous bell she could not helpthinking of her last visit; she had felt sore and jealous then, to-dayshe was bowed down by a sense of unworthiness and humility. Then, too, she had gone to visit this rich and prosperous young woman dressed inher very best, for she said to herself that whatever her poverty, shewould look every inch the lady; she looked every inch the lady to-day, though she was in her old and faded merino. But that had now come to herwhich made her forget the very existence of dress. The grand footman, however, who answered her modest summons, being obtuse and uneducated, saw only the shabby dress; he thought she was a distressed workwoman, hehad forgotten that she had ever come there before. When she asked forMiss Harman, he hesitated and was uncertain whether she could see hisyoung lady; finally looking at her again, he decided to trust her sofar as to allow her to wait in the hall while he went to inquire. Charlotte gave her name, Mrs. Home, and he went away. When he returnedthere was a change in his manner. Had he begun to recognize the ladyunder the shabby dress; or had Charlotte Harman said anything? He tookMrs. Home up to the pretty room she had seen before, and left her there, saying that Miss Harman would be with her in few moments. The roomlooked just as of old. Charlotte, as she waited, remembered that she hadbeen jealous of this pretty room. It was as pretty to-day, bright withflowers, gay with sunshine; the same love-birds were in the same cage, the same canary sang in the same window, the same parrot swung lazilyfrom the same perch. Over the mantelpiece hung the portrait in oils ofthe pretty baby, who yet was not so pretty as hers. Charlotte rememberedhow she had longed for these pretty things for her children, but alldesire for them had left her now. There was the rustling of a silk dressheard in the passage, and Charlotte Harman carelessly, but richlyattired, came in. There was, even in their outward appearance, the fullcontrast between the rich and the poor observable at this moment, forCharlotte Harman, too, had absolutely forgotten her dress, and hadallowed Ward to put on what she chose. When they were about to reversepositions, this rich and this poor woman stood side by side in markedcontrast. Charlotte Harman looked proud and cold; in the moment when shecame to plead, she held her head high. Charlotte Home, who was to grantthe boon, came up timidly, almost humbly. She took the hands of thisgirl whom she loved, held them firmly, then gathering sudden courage, there burst from her lips just the last words she had meant at thismoment to say. 

"How much I love you! how much I love you!"

As these fervent, passionate words were almost flung at her, CharlotteHarman's eyes began suddenly to dilate. After a moment she said underher breath, in a startled kind of whisper?

"You know all?"

"I know everything. "

"Then you--you will save my father?"

"Absolutely. You need fear nothing from me or mine; in this we are butquits. Did not you save Harold?"

"Ah, " said Charlotte Harman; she took no notice of her friend and guest, she sat down on the nearest chair and covered her face. When she raisedher head, Mrs. Home was kneeling by her side. 

"Charlotte, " said Miss Harman--there was a change in her, the proud lookand bearing were gone--"Charlotte, " she said, "you and I are one age, but you are a mother; may I lay my head on your breast just for amoment?"

"Lay it there, my darling. As you have got into my heart of hearts, sowould I comfort you. "

"Ah, Charlotte, how my heart has beat! but your love is like a cool handlaid upon it, it is growing quiet. "

"Charlotte, you are right in reminding me that I am a mother. I musttreat you as I would my little Daisy. Daisy trusts me absolutely and hasno fear; you must trust me altogether, and fear nothing. "

"I do. I fear nothing when I am with you. Charlotte, next Tuesday was tohave been my wedding-day. "

"Yes, dear. "

"But it is all on an end now; I broke off my engagement yesterday. Andyet, how much I love him! Charlotte, don't look at me so pityingly. "

"Was I doing so? I was wondering if you slept last night. "

"Slept! No, people don't sleep when their hearts beat as hard as minedid, but I am better now. "

"Then, Charlotte, I must prescribe for you, as a mother. For the nexttwo hours you are my child and shall obey me; we have a great deal tosay to each other; but first of all, before we say a single word, youmust lie on this sofa, and I will hold your hand. You shall try andsleep. "

"But can you spare the time from your children?"

"You are my child now; as long as you want me I will stay with you. See, I am going to draw down the blinds, and I will lock the door; you mustnot be disturbed. "

It was thus that these two spent the morning. When Charlotte Harmanawoke some hours later, quiet and refreshed, they had a long, long talk. That talk drew their hearts still closer together; it was plain thatsuch a paltry thing as money could not divide these friends. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

THE FATE OF A LETTER. 

Hinton had left the Harmans' house, after his strange interview withCharlotte, with a stunned feeling. It is not too much to say of thisyoung man that he utterly failed to realize what had befallen him. Hewalked like one in a dream, and when he reached his lodgings in JermynStreet, and sat down at last by his hearth, he thought of himself in aqueer way, as if he were some one else; a trouble had come to some oneelse; that some one was a friend of his so he was called on to pity him. Gradually, however, it dawned upon him that the friend was unpleasantlyclose, that the some one else reigned as lord of his bosom. It washe--he himself he was called on to pity. It was on his hitherto soprosperous, young head that the storm had burst. Next Tuesday was tohave been his wedding-day. There was to be no wedding. On next Tuesdayhe was to have won a bride, a wife; that other one dearer than himselfwas to give herself to him absolutely. In addition to this he was toobtain fortune: and fortune was to lead to far dearer, far nobler fame. But now all this was at an end; Tuesday was to pass as any otherday--gray, neutral-tinted, indifferent, it was to go over his head. Andwhy? This was what caused the sharpest sting of the anguish. Thereseemed no reason for it all. Charlotte's excuse was a poor one; it hadnot the ring of the true metal about it. Unaccustomed to deceive, shehad played her part badly. She had given an excuse; but it was noexcuse. In this Hinton was not blinded, even for a moment. HisCharlotte! There, seemed a flaw in the perfect creature. His Charlottehad a second time turned away her confidence from him. Yes, here was thesting; in her trouble she would not let him comfort her. What was thematter? What was the mystery? What was the hidden wrong?

Hinton roused himself now. As thought and clearness of judgment camemore vividly back to him, his anger grew and his pity lessened. His mindwas brought to bear upon a secret, for there _was_ a hidden secret. Hisremembrance travelled back to all that had happened since the day theirmarriage was fixed--since the day when he first saw a troubled look onCharlotte's face--and she had told him, though unwillingly, that queerstory of Mrs. Home's. Yes, of course, he knew there was a mystery--astrange and dark mystery; like a coward he had turned away frominvestigating it. He had seen Uncle Jasper's nervous fear; he had seenMrs. Home's poverty; he had witnessed Mr. Harman's ill-concealeddisquietude--all this he had seen, all this he had known. But forCharlotte's sake, he had shut his eyes; Charlotte's sake he hadforbidden his brain to think or his hands to work. --

And now--now--ah! light was dawning. Charlotte had fathomed what he hadfeared to look at. Charlotte had seen the dread reality. The secret wasdisgraceful. Nothing else could so have changed his one love. Nothingbut disgrace, the disgrace of the one nearest to her, could bring thatlook to her face. Scarcely had he thought this before a memory came tohim. He started to his feet as it came back. Charlotte had said, "Beforeour wedding-day I will read my grandfather's will. " Suppose she had doneso, and her grandfather's will had been--what? Hinton began to seereason now in her unaccountable determination not to see Webster. Shehad doubtless resolved on that very day to go to Somerset House and readthat fatal document. Having made up her mind she would not swerve fromher purpose. Then, though she was firm in her determination, her facehad been bright, her brow unfurrowed, she had still been his own dearand happy Charlotte. He had not seen her again until she knew all. Sheknew all, and her heart and spirit were alike broken. As this factbecame clear to Hinton, a sense of relief and peace came over him; hebegan once more to understand the woman he loved. Beside the darkness ofmisunderstanding _her_, all other misunderstandings seemed light. Shewas still his love, his life; she was still true to herself, to thebeautiful ideal he had enthroned in his heart of hearts. Poor darling!she would suffer; but he must escape. Loving him as deeply, as devotedlyas ever, she yet would give him up, rather than that he should share inthe downfall of her house. Ah! she did not know him. She could be great;but so also could he. Charlotte should see that her love was no lightthing for any man to relinquish: she would find that it weighed heavierin the balance than riches, than fame; that disgrace even could notcrush it down. Knowing all, he would go to her; she should not be alonein her great, great trouble; she should find out in her hour of need thekind of man whose heart she had won. His depression left him as he cameto this resolve, and he scarcely spent even an anxious night. On thenext day, however, he did not go to Charlotte; but about noon he satdown and wrote her the following letter:--

 MY DARLING:

 You gave me up yesterday. I was--I don't mind telling you this now--stunned, surprised, pained. Since then, however, I have thought much; all my thought has been about you. Thought sometimes leads to light, and light has come to me. Charlotte, a contract entered into by two takes two to undo. I refuse to undo this contract. Charlotte, I refuse to give you up. You are my promised wife; our banns have been read twice in church already. Have you forgotten this? In the eyes of both God and man you are almost mine. To break off this engagement, unless I, too, wished it, would be, whatever your motive, a _sin_. Charlotte, the time has come, when we may ruin all the happiness of both our lives, unless very plain words pass between us. I use very plain words when I tell you that I most absolutely refuse to give you up. That being so, _whatever_ your motive, you are committing a sin in refusing to give yourself to me. My darling, it is you I want, not your money--you--not--not--But I will add no more, except one thing. Charlotte, I went this morning to Somerset House, and I _read your grandfather's will_. 

 Now, what hour shall I come to you? Any hour you name I will fly to you. It is impossible for you to refuse what I demand as a right. But know that, if you do refuse, I will come notwithstanding. 

 Yours ever, JOHN HINTON. 

This letter, being directed, was quickly posted, and in due time reachedits address at Prince's Gate. 

Then a strange thing happened to it. Jasper Harman, passing through thehall, saw the solitary letter waiting for his niece. It was his habit toexamine every letter that came within his reach; he took up this one forno particular reason, but simply from the force of this longestablished habit. But having taken it in his hand, he knew thewriting. The letter was from Hinton, and Charlotte had told him--hadjust told him--that her engagement with Hinton was broken off, that herwedding was not to be. Old Jasper was beset just now by a thousandfears, and Charlotte's manner and Charlotte's words had considerablyadded to his alarm. There was a mystery; Charlotte could not deny thatfact. This letter might elucidate it--might throw light where so muchwas needed. Jasper Harman felt that the contents of Hinton's lettermight do him good and ease his mind. Without giving himself an instant'stime for reflection, he took the letter into the dining-room, and, opening it, read what was meant for another. He had scarcely done sobefore Charlotte unexpectedly entered the room. To save himself fromdiscovery, when he heard her step, he dropped the letter into the fire. Thus Charlotte never got her lover's letter. 

Hinton, bravely as he had spoken, was, nevertheless, pained at hersilence. After waiting for twenty-four hours he, however, resolved to betrue to his word. He had said to Charlotte, "If you refuse what I demandas a right, nevertheless I shall exercise my right. I will come to you. "But he went with a strange sinking of heart, and when he got to Prince'sGate and was not admitted he scarcely felt surprised. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

"THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS. "

It is one of those everlasting truths, which experience and life teachus every day, that sin brings its own punishment, virtue its own reward:peace, the great divine reward of conscience to the virtuous; misery anddespair, and that constant apprehension which dreads discovery, and yetwhich in itself is worse than discovery, to the transgressors. 

"The way of transgressors is hard. "

That Bible text was proving itself once more now in the cases of two oldmen. John Harman was sinking into his grave in anguish at the thought offacing an angry God: Jasper Harman was preparing to fly from what, alas!he dreaded more, the faces of his angry fellow-creatures. 

Yes; it had come to this with Jasper Harman; England had become too hotto hold him; better fly while he could. Ever since the day Hinton hadtold him that he had really and in truth heard of the safe arrival ofthe other trustee, Jasper's days and nights had been like hell to him. In the morning, he had wondered would the evening find him still a freeman; in the evening, he had trembled at what might befall him before themorning dawned. Unaccustomed to any mental anguish, his health began togive way; his heart beat irregularly, unevenly, he lost his appetite; atnight he either had bad dreams or he could not sleep. This change beganto tell upon his appearance; his hair grew thinner and whiter, hestooped as he walked, there was very little apparent difference nowbetween him and John. 

He could not bear the Harmans' house, for there he might meet Hinton. Hedreaded his office in the City, for there the other trustee might followhim and publicly expose him. He liked his club best; but even there hefelt scarcely safe, some one might get an inkling of the tale, there wasno saying how soon such a story, so strange, so disgraceful, pertainingto so well-known a house as that of Harman Brothers, might get bruitedabout. Thus it came to pass that there was no place where this wretchedold man felt safe; it became more and more clear to him day by day thatEngland was too hot to hold him. All these growing feelings culminatedin a sudden accession of terror on the day that Charlotte, with herstrangely changed face, had asked him the truth with regard to herfather's case, when, with the persistence of almost despair, she hadinsisted on knowing the very worst; then had quickly followed theannouncement that her marriage had been broken off by herself; that itwas postponed, her father thought, simply for the short remaining spanof his own life; but Charlotte had taken little pains to conceal fromUncle Jasper that she now never meant to marry Hinton. What was thereason of it all? Jasper Harman, too, as well as Hinton, was notdeceived by the reason given. There was something more behind. What wasthat something more?

In his terror and perplexity, Jasper opened Hinton's letter. Onesentence in that letter, never meant for him, burnt into the unhappy manas the very fire of hell. 

"I went this morning to Somerset House, and I read your grandfather'swill. "

Then Jasper's worst fears had come true; the discovery was made; thehidden sin brought to the light, the sinners would be dragged any momentto punishment. 

Jasper must leave England that very night. Never again could he enterhis brother's house. He must fly; he must fly at once and in secret, forit would never do to take any one into his confidence. Jasper Harman hada hard and evil heart; he was naturally cold and unloving; but he hadone affection, he did care for his brother. In mortal terror as he was, he could not leave that dying brother without bidding him good-bye. 

John Harman had not gone to the City that day, and when Charlotte leftthe room, Jasper, first glancing at the grate to make sure that Hinton'sletter was all reduced to ashes, stole, in his usual soft and glidingfashion, to John's study. He was pleased to see his brother there, andalone. 

"You are early back from the City, Jasper, " said the elder brother. 

"Yes; there was nothing to keep me this afternoon, so I did not stay. "

The two old men exchanged a few more commonplaces. They were nowstanding by the hearth. Suddenly John Harman, uttering a half-suppressedgroan, resumed his seat. 

"It is odd, " he said, "how the insidious something which men call Deathseems to grow nearer to me day by day. Now, as we stood together, I feltjust a touch of the cold hand; the touch was but a feather weight, butany instant it will come down like a giant on its prey. It is terribleto stand as I do, looking into the face of Death; I mean it is terriblefor one like me. "

"You are getting morbid, John, " said Jasper; "you always were given tolook on the dismals. If you must die, as I suppose and fear you must, why don't you rouse yourself and enjoy life while you may?"

To this John Harman made no answer. After a moment or two of silence, during which Jasper watched him nervously, he said;--

"As you have come back so early from the City, can you give me two hoursnow? I have a great deal I want to say to you. "

"About the past?" questioned Jasper. 

"About the past. "

Jasper Harman paused and hesitated; he knew well that he should neversee his brother again; that this was his last request. But dare he stay?Two hours were very precious, and the avenger might even now be at thedoor. No; he could not waste time so precious in listening to an old, old tale. 

"Will two hours this evening do equally well, John?"

"Yes, if you prefer it. I generally give the evening to Charlotte; butthis evening, if it suits you better. "

"I will go now, then, " said Jasper. 

"Charlotte has told you of her resolve?"

"Yes, and I have spoken to her; but she is an obstinate minx. "

"Do not call her so; it is because of her love for me. I am sorry thatshe will not marry at once; but it is not, after all, a longpostponement and it is I own, a relief, not to have to conceal my stateof health from her. "

"It is useless arguing with a woman, " said Jasper. "Well, good-bye, John. "

"Good-bye, " said the elder Harman, in some surprise that Jasper's handwas held out to him. 

Jasper's keen eyes looked hard into John's for a moment. He wrung thethin hand and left the room. He had left for ever the one human being heloved, and even in his throat was a lump caused by something else thanfear. But in the street and well outside that luxurious home, his lovesank out of sight and his fear returned; he must get out of England thatvery night, and he had much to do. 

He pulled out his watch. Yes, there was still time. Hailing a passinghansom he jumped into it, and drove to his bank. There, to theastonishment of the cashier, he drew all the money he kept there. Thisamounted to some thousands. Jasper buttoned the precious notes into apocket-book. Then he went to his lodgings and began the task of tearingup letters and papers which he feared might betray him. Hitherto, allthrough his life he had kept these things precious; but now they allwent, even to his mother's portrait and the few letters she had writtento him when a boy at school. Even he sighed as he cast these treasuresinto the fire and watched them being reduced to ashes; but though theyhad gone with him from place to place in Australia, and he had hopednever to part from them, he must give them up now, for, innocent as theylooked, they might appeal against him. He must give up all the past, name and all, for was he not flying from the avengers? flying because ofhis sin? Oh! surely the way of transgressors was hard!

CHAPTER XLVII. 

CHARLOTTE HARMAN'S COMFORT. 

Jasper Harman did not come to his brother's house that night, but aboutthe time he might be expected to arrive there came a note from himinstead. It was plausibly written, and gave a plausible excuse for hisabsence. He told John of sudden tidings with regard to some foreignbusiness. These tidings were really true. Jasper said that aconfidential clerk had gone to the foreign port where they dealt toinquire into this special matter, but that he thought it best, as thestakes at issue were large, to go also himself, to inquire personally. He would not be long away, &c. &c. He would write when to expect hisreturn. It was a letter so cleverly put together, as to cause no alarmto any one. John Harman read it, folded it up, and told Charlotte thatthey need not expect Jasper in Prince's Gate for at least a week. Theweek passed, and though Jasper had neither come nor written, there wasno anxiety felt on his account. In the mean time affairs had outwardlycalmed down in Prince's Gate. The agitation, which had been felt even bythe humblest servant in the establishment had ceased. Everything hadreturned to its accustomed groove. The nine days' wonder of that put offwedding had ceased to be a wonder. It still, it is true, gave zest toconversation in the servants' hall, but upstairs it was never mentioned. The even routine of daily life had resumed its sway, and things lookedsomething as they did before, except that Mr. Harman grew to all eyesperceptibly weaker, that Charlotte was very grave and pale and quiet, that old Uncle Jasper was no longer in and out of the house, and thatJohn Hinton never came near it. The luxurious house in Prince's Gate wasunquestionably very dull; but otherwise no one could guess that therewas anything specially amiss there. 

On a certain morning, Charlotte got up, put on her walking things, andwent out. She had not been out of doors for a week, and a sudden longingto be alone in the fresh outer world came over her too strongly to berejected. She called a hansom and once more drove to her favoriteRegent's Park. The park was now in all the full beauty and glory of itsspring dress, and Charlotte sat down under the green and pleasant shadeof a wide spreading oak-tree. She folded her hands in her lap and gazedstraight before her. She had lived through one storm, but she knew thatanother was before her. The sky overhead was still gray and lowering;there was scarcely even peace in this brief lull in the tempest. In thefirst sudden fierceness of the storm she had acted nobly and bravely, but now that the excitement was past, there was coming to her a certainhardening of heart, and she was beginning to doubt the goodness of God. At first, most truly she had scarcely thought of herself at all, but itwas impossible as the days went on for her not to make a moan over herown altered life. The path before her looked very dark, and Charlotte'sfeet had hitherto been unaccustomed to gloom. She was looking forward tothe death, the inevitable and certainly approaching death of her father. That was bad, that was dreadful; but bad and dreadful as it would be tosay good-bye to the old man, what must follow would be worse; howevershe might love him, however tenderly she might treat him, during his fewremaining days or weeks of life, when all was over and he could returnno more to receive men's praise or blame, then she must disgrace him, she must hold him up for the world's scorn. It would be impossible evento hope that the story would not be known, and once known it would heapdishonor on the old head she loved. For Charlotte, though she saw thesin, though the sin itself was most terrible and horrible to her, wasstill near enough to Christ in her nature to forgive the sinner. She hadsuffered; oh, how bitterly through this man! but none the less for thisreason did she love him. But there was another cause for her heartache;and this was more personal. Hinton and she were parted. That was right. Any other course for her to have pursued would have been most distinctlywrong. But none the less did her heart ache and feel very sore; for howeasily had Hinton acquiesced in her decision! She did not even know ofhis visit to the house. That letter, which would have been, whatever itsresult, like balm to her wounded spirit, had never reached her. Hintonwas most plainly satisfied that they should meet no more. Doubtless itwas best, doubtless in the end it would prove the least hard course; butnone the less did hot tears fall now; none the less heavy was herheart. She was wiping away a tear or two, and thinking these very sadthoughts, when a clear little voice in her ear startled her. 

"My pretty lady!" said the sweet voice, and looking round Charlotte sawlittle Harold Home standing by her side. Charlotte had not seen Haroldsince his illness. He had grown taller and thinner than of old, but hisloving eyes were fixed on her face, and now his small brown hands beatimpatiently upon her knees. 

"Daisy and Angus are just round the corner, " he whispered. "Let us playa game of hide and seek, shall we?"

He pulled her hand as he spoke, and Charlotte got up to humor him atonce. They went quickly round to the other side of the great oak-tree, Harold sitting down on the grass pulled Charlotte to his side. 

"Ah! don't speak, " he said, and he put his arms round her neck. 

She found the feel of the little arms strangely comforting, and when amoment or two afterwards the others discovered them and came close withpeals of merry laughter, she yielded at once to Harold's eager request. 

"May they go for a walk for half an hour, and may I stay with you, pretty lady?"

"Yes, " she answered, stooping down to kiss him. 

Anne promised to return at the right time, and Charlotte and Harold werealone. The boy, nestling close to her side, began to chatterconfidentially. 

"I'm _so_ glad I came across you, " he said; "you looked very dull when Icame up, and it must be nice for you to have me to talk to, and 'tisvery nice for me too, for I am fond of you. "

"I am glad of that, Harold, " said Charlotte. 

"But I don't think you are quite such a pretty lady as you were, "continued the boy, raising his eyes to her face and examining hercritically. "Mr. Hinton and I used to think you were perfectly lovely!You were so _bright_--yes, bright is the word. Something like a dearpretty cherry, or like my little canary when he's singing his very, verybest. But you ain't a bit like my canary to-day; you have no sing in youto-day; ain't you happy, my pretty lady?"

"I have had some trouble since I saw you last, Harold, " said Charlotte. 

"Dear, dear!" sighed Harold, "everybody seems to have lots of trouble. Iwonder why. No; I don't think Mr. Hinton would think you pretty to-day. But, " as a sudden thought and memory came over him--"I suppose you aremarried by this time? Aren't you married to my Mr. Hinton by this time?"

"No, dear, " answered Charlotte. 

"But why?" questioned the inquisitive boy. 

"I am afraid I cannot tell you that, Harold. "

Harold was silent for about half a minute. He was sitting down on thegrass close to Charlotte, and his head was leaning against her shoulder. After a moment he continued with a sigh, --

"I guess _he's_ very sorry. He and I used to talk about you so at nightwhen I had the fever. I knew then he was fond of you, nearly as fond asI am myself. "

"I am glad little Harold Home loves me, " said Charlotte, soothed by thepretty boy's talk, and again she stooped down to kiss him. 

"But everybody does, " said the boy. "There's father and mother, and myMr. Hinton and me, myself, and above all, the blessed Jesus. "

A strange feeling, half pleasure, half surprise, came over Charlotte. 

"How do you know about that last?" she whispered. 

"Of course I know, " replied Harold. "I know quite well. I heard fatherand mother say it; I heard them say it quite plainly one day; 'She's oneof those blessed ones whom Jesus Christ loves very much. ' Oh dear! Iwish the children weren't back so dreadfully soon. "

Yes, the children and Anne had returned, and Harold had to say good-bye, and Charlotte herself had to retrace her steps homewards. But her walkhad not been for nothing, and there was a new peace, a new quiet, and anew hope in her heart. The fact was, she just simply, without doubt ordifficulty, believed the child. Little Harold Home had brought her somenews. The news was strange, new, and wonderful; she did not doubt it. Faithful, and therefore full of faith, was this simple and uprightnature. There was no difficulty in her believing a fact. What Haroldsaid was a fact. She was one of those whom Jesus loved. Straight didthis troubled soul fly to the God of consolation. Her religion, frombeing a dead thing, began to live. She was not friendless, she was notalone, she had a friend who, knowing absolutely all, still loved. Atthat moment Charlotte Harman put her hand into the hand of Christ. 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

THE CHILDREN'S ATTIC. 

It was one thing for Alexander Wilson to agree to let matters alone forthe present, and by so doing to oblige both Charlotte Home and CharlotteHarman, but it was quite another thing for him to see his niece, his ownDaisy's child, suffering from poverty. Sandy had been accustomed toroughing it in the Australian bush. He had known what it was to go manyhours without food, and when that food could be obtained it was mostgenerally of the coarsest and commonest quality. He had known, too, whatthe cold of lying asleep in the open air meant. All that an ordinary mancould endure had Sandy pulled through in his efforts to make a fortune. He had never grumbled at these hardships, they had passed over himlightly. He would, he considered, have been less than man to havecomplained. But nevertheless, when he entered the Home's house, and tookpossession of the poorly-furnished bedroom, and sat down day after dayto the not too abundant meals; when he saw pretty little Daisy crybecause her mother could not give her just what was most nourishing forher breakfast, and Harold, still pale and thin, having to do without thebeef-tea which the doctor had ordered for him; when Sandy saw thesethings his heart waxed hot, and a great grumbling fit took possession ofhis kindly, genial soul. This grumbling fit reached its culminatingpoint, when one day--mother, children, and maid all out--he stole upsoftly to the children's nursery. This small attic room, close to theroof, low, insufficiently ventilated, was altogether too much for Sandy. The time had come for him to act, and he was never the man to shirkaction in any way. Charlotte Harman was all very well; that dying fatherof hers, whom he pronounced a most atrocious sinner, and took pleasurein so thinking him, he also was well enough, but everything could notgive way to them. Though for the present Mr. Harman's money could not betouched for the Home's relief, yet Sandy's own purse was open, and thatpurse, he flattered himself, was somewhat comfortably lined. Yes, hemust do something, and at once. Having examined with marked disgust thechildren's attic, he marched down the street. Tremins Road was long andnarrow, but leading out of it was a row of fine new houses. These houseswere about double the size of number ten, were nicely finished, andthough many of them were already taken, two or three had boards up, announcing that they were still to let. Sandy saw the agent's name onthe board, and went off straight to consult with him. The result of thisconsultation was that in half an hour he and the agent were all over thenew house. Sandy went down to the basement, and thought himselfparticularly knowing in poking his nose into corners, in examining theconstruction of the kitchen-range, and expecting a copper for washingpurposes to be put up in the scullery. Upstairs he selected a large andbright room, the windows of which commanded a peep of distant country. Here his pretty little Pet Daisy might play happily, and get back herrosy cheeks, and sleep well at night without coming downstairsheavy-eyed to breakfast. Finally he took the house on the spot, andordered in paperers and painters for the following Monday. 

He was asked if he would like to choose the papers. "Certainly, " hereplied, inwardly resolving that the nursery should be covered withpictures. He appointed an hour on Monday for his selections. This daywas Saturday. He then went to the landlord of No. 10, Tremins Road, andmade an arrangement for the remainder of the Homes' lease. Thisarrangement cost him some money, but he reflected again withsatisfaction that his purse was well lined. So far he had conducted hisplans without difficulty. But his next step was not so easy; withoutsaying a word to either Charlotte or her husband, he had deprived themof one home, while providing them with another. No doubt the new homewas vastly superior to the old. But still it came into his mind thatthey might consider his action in the light of a liberty; in short, thatthis very peculiar and unworldly couple might be capable of taking huffand might refuse to go at his bidding. Sandy set his wits to work overthis problem, and finally he concocted a scheme. He must come round thispair by guile. He thought and thought, and in the evening when herhusband was out he had a long talk with his niece. By a few judiciouslychosen words he contrived to frighten Charlotte about her husband'shealth. He remarked that he looked ill, worn, very much older than hisyears. He said, with a sigh, that when a man like Home broke down henever got up again. He was undermining his constitution. When had he hada change?

"Never once since we were married, " answered the wife with tears in hereyes. 

Sandy shook his head very sadly and gravely over this, and after amoment of reflection brought out his scheme. 

Easter was now over, there was no special press of parish work. SurelyHomes' Rector would give him a holiday, and allow him to get away fromMonday to Saturday night? Why not run away to Margate for those sixdays, and take his wife and three children with him? No, they need takeno maid, for he, Uncle Sandy, having proposed this plan must beanswerable for the expense. He would put them all up at a good hotel, and Anne could stay at home to take care of him. Of course to thisscheme there were many objections raised. But, finally, the oldAustralian overruled them each and all. The short leave was granted bythe Rector. The rooms at the hotel which commanded the best sea-viewwere taken by Sandy, and the Homes left 10 Tremins Road, little guessingthat they were not to return there. When he had seen father, mother, andthree happy little children off by an early train, Sandy returnedquickly to Tremins Road. There he called Anne to him, and unfolded tothe trembling and astonished girl his scheme. 

"We have to be in the new house as snug as snug by Saturday night, mygirl, " he said in conclusion. "We have to bring away what is worthmoving of this furniture, and it must all be clean and fresh, for aclean new house. And, look here, Anne, you can't do all the work; do youhappen to know of a good, hard-working girl, who would come and helpyou, and stay altogether if Mrs. Home happened to like her, just asecond like yourself, my lass?"

"Oh, please, sir, please, sir, " answered Anne, "there's my own sister, she's older nor me, and more knowing. She's real 'andy, and please, sir, she'd like it real awful well. "

"Engage her by all means, " said Wilson, "go at once for her. See; wheredoes she live? I will pay the cab fare. "

"Oh, was anything so exactly like the _Family Herald_, " thought Anne asshe drove away. 

Uncle Sandy then went to a large West End furniture shop, and chose somesensible and nice furniture. The drawing-room alone he left untouched, for he could not pretend to understand how such a room should be riggedout--that must be Charlotte's province. But the nice large dining-room, the bedrooms, the stairs and hall, were made as sweet and gay and prettyas the West End shopman, who had good taste and to whom Uncle Sandy gavecarte blanche, could devise. Finally, on Saturday, he went to aflorist's and from there filled the windows with flowers, and Anne hadorders to abundantly supply the larder and store-room; and now at last, directions being given for tea, the old man went off to meet his niece, her husband and her children, to conduct them to their new home. 

"Oh, we did have such a time, " said Harold, as, brown as a berry, helooked up at his old great-uncle. "Didn't we, Daisy?" he added, appealing to his small sister, who clung to his hand. 

"Ess, but we 'onted 'oo, Uncle 'Andy, " said the small thing, lookingaudaciously into his face, which she well knew this speech would please. 

"You're just a dear, little, darling duck, " said Sandy, taking her inhis arms and giving her a squeeze. But even Daisy could not quitemonopolize him at this moment. All the success of his scheme depended onthe next half-hour, and as they all drove back to Kentish Town, Sandy onthe box-seat of the cab, and the father, mother, and three childreninside, his heart beat so loud and hard, that he had to quiet it withsome sharp inward admonitions. 

"Sandy Wilson, you old fool!" he said to himself more than once; "youhave not been through the hardships of the Australian bush to be afraidof a moment like this. Keep yourself quiet; I'm ashamed of you. "

At last they drew up at the address Sandy had privately given. Howbeautiful the new house looked! The hall door stood open, and Anne'ssmiling face was seen on the threshold. The children raised a shout atsight of her and the flowers, which were so gay in the windows. Mr. Homein a puzzled kind of way was putting out his head to tell the cabby thathe had made a mistake, and that he must just turn the corner. Charlottewas feeling a queer little sensation of surprise, when Uncle Sandy, witha face almost purple with emotion, flung open the door of the cab, tookDaisy in his arms, and mounting her with an easy swing on to hisshoulder said to Charlotte, --

"Welcome, in the name of your dear, dead mother, Daisy Wilson, to yournew home, Niece Lottie. "

The children raised a fresh shout. 

"Oh, come, Daisy, " said Harold; she struggled to the ground and the tworushed in. Anne came down and took the baby, and Mr. And Mrs. Home hadno help for it but to follow in a blind kind of way. Uncle Sandy pushedhis niece down into one of the hall chairs. 

"There!" he said; "don't, for Heaven's sake, you two unpractical, unworldly people, begin to be angry with me. That place in Tremins Roadwas fairly breaking my heart, and I could not stand it, and'tis--well--I do believe 'tis let, and you _can't_ go back to it, andthis house is yours, Niece Charlotte, and the furniture. As to the rent, I'll be answerable for that, and you won't refuse your own mother'sbrother. The fact was, that attic where the children slept was too muchfor me, so I had to do something. Forgive me if I practised a little bitof deception on you both. Now, I'm off to an hotel to-night, butto-morrow, if you're not too angry with your mother's brother, I'mcoming back for good. Kept a fine room for myself, I can tell you. Anneshall show it to you. Trust Sandy Wilson to see to his own comforts. Nowgood-bye, and God bless you both. "

Away he rushed before either of the astonished pair had time to get in aword. 

"But I do think they'll forgive the liberty the old man took with them, "were his last waking thoughts as he closed his eyes that night. 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

HE WEPT. 

Mr. Harman was beginning to take the outward circumstances of his lifewith great quietness. What, three months before, would have caused bothtrouble and distress, now, was received with equanimity. The fact was, he felt himself day by day getting so near eternity, that the things oftime, always so disproportionately large to our worldly minds, wereassuming to him their true proportions. 

John Harman was being led by a dark road of terrible mental suffering tohis God; already he was drawing near, and the shadow of that forgivenesswhich would yet encircle him in its perfect rest and peace was at hand. 

Days, and even weeks, went by, and there was no news of Jasper. JohnHarman would once have been sorely perplexed, but now he received thefact of his brothers absence with a strange quietness, even apathy. Charlotte's postponed marriage, a little time back, would have alsofretted him, but believing surely that she would be happy after hisdeath, he did not now trouble; and he could not help owning to himselfthat the presence of his dearly loved daughter was a comfort too greatto be lightly dispensed with. He was too much absorbed with himself tonotice the strangeness of Hinton's absence, and he did not perceive, ashe otherwise would have done, that Charlotte's face was growing thin andpale, and that there was a subdued, almost crushed manner about thehitherto spirited creature, which not even his present state of healthcould altogether account for. 

Yes, John Harman lived his self-absorbed life, going day by day a littlefurther into the valley of the shadow of death. The valley he wasentering looked very dark indeed to the old man, for the sin of hisyouth was still unforgiven, and he could not see even a glimpse of theGood Shepherd's rod and staff. Still he was searching day and night forsome road of peace and forgiveness; he wanted the Redeemer of all theworld to lay His hand upon his bowed old head. The mistake he was stillmaking was this--he would not take God's way of peace, he must find hisown. 

One evening, after Charlotte had left him, he sat for a long time in hisstudy lost in thought. After a time he rose and took down once more fromthe shelf the Bible which he had opened some time before; then it hadgiven him the reverse of comfort, and he scarcely, as he removed it fromthe place where he had pushed it far back out of sight, knew why heagain touched it. He did, however, take it in his hand, and return withit to his chair. He drew the chair up to the table and laid the oldBible upon it. He opened it haphazard; he was not a man who had everstudied or loved the Bible; he was not acquainted with all its contentsand the story on which his eyes rested came almost with the freshness ofnovelty. 

"Two men went up into the Temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and theother a publican. 

"The publican would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, butsmote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me, a sinner. 

"I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than theother. "

John Harman read the story twice. 

"This man went down to his house justified rather than the other. "

The other! he fasted, and gave alms, and thanked God that he was not asthis publican--this publican, who was a sinner. 

But the Bible words were clear enough and plain enough. He, the sinner, was justified. 

John Harman covered his face with his hands. Suddenly he fell on hisknees. 

"God be merciful to me a sinner, " he said. 

He said the few words twice aloud, in great anguish of spirit, and as heprayed he wept. 

Afterwards he turned over the Bible pages again. This time he read thestory of Zacchæus. 

"If I have taken anything from any man, I restore him fourfold. "

It was very late when Mr. Harman at last went to bed, but he sleptbetter that night than he had done for years. He was beginning to seethe possible end. 

CHAPTER L. 

HOME'S SERMON. 

It was impossible for the Homes to refuse Uncle Sandy's kindness. Theirnatural pride and independence of character could not stand in the wayof so graciously and gracefully offered a gift. When the old man came tosee them the next day, he was received with all the love and gratitudehe deserved. If he could give well, Charlotte and her husband knew howto receive well. He now told his niece plainly that he had come to passthe remainder of his days with her and hers; and father, mother, andchildren welcomed him with delight. 

Charlotte was now a very happy woman. The new and pretty house wasdelightful to her. She began to understand what it was not to have tolook twice at a pound, for Uncle Sandy's purse was for ever at hercommand. When she went with her old uncle to choose the furniture forthe new drawing room, she laughed so merrily and seemed so gay thatUncle Sandy informed her that she had already lost five years of herage. Harold and Daisy used to look into her face at this time, and sayto one another, "Isn't our mother pretty?" For, indeed, the peace in herheart, and the little unexpected glow of worldly prosperity which hadcome into her life, had wonderfully softened and beautified her face. Her eyes, when she looked at her children's blooming faces, were oftenbright as stars. At all times now they were serene and happy. She hadone little cross, however, one small shadow in her happy time. Shewanted to be much--daily, if possible--with Charlotte Harman. Her heartyearned over Charlotte, and she would have almost neglected her childrento give her one ray of comfort just now. But Charlotte herself hadforbidden this daily intercourse. 

"I love you, Charlotte, " she had said, "and I know that you love me. Butat present we must not meet. I cannot leave my father to go to see you, and you must not come here, for I cannot risk the chance of seeing you. He may question me, and I shall not be able to answer his questions. No, Charlotte, we must not meet. "

Charlotte Home felt much regret at this. Failing Charlotte Harman, sheturned her attention to Hinton. She was fully resolved that no stoneshould remain unturned by her to enable those two yet to marry, and shethought she might best effect her object by seeing the young man. Shewrote to him, asking him to call, telling him that she had much ofimportance to tell him; but both from his private address and also fromhis chambers the letters were, in due course of time, returned. Hintonwas not in town, and had left no clue to his whereabouts. Thus she wascut off from helping, in any way, those who were in great darkness, andthis fact was an undoubted sorrow to her. Yes, Mrs. Home was full ofpity for Charlotte, full of pity for Charlotte's lover. But it is to befeared that both she and Uncle Sandy retained a strong sense ofindignation towards the one who had caused the anguish--towards the one, therefore, on whom the heaviest share of the punishment fell. Veryterrible was it for Charlotte, very terrible for Hinton. But were theyasked to tell their true feeling towards old John Harman, they mighthave whispered, "Serve him right. " There was one, however, besides hisdaughter, whose warmest sympathies, whose most earnest and passionateprayers were beginning day by day and night by night, to centre more andmore round the suffering and guilty man, and that one was the curate, Home. Angus Home had never seen John Harman, but his sin and hiscondition were ever before him. He was a dying man, and--he was asinner. With strong tears and lamentation did this man cry to God forhis fellow man. His tears and his prayers brought love for the sinner. Angus Home would have gladly died to bring John Harman back to God. 

One Saturday night he sat up late over his sermon. He was not aneloquent preacher, but so earnest was his nature, so intense hisrealization of God's love and of the things unseen, that it wasimpossible for his words not to be winged with the rare power ofearnestness. He was neither gifted with language nor with imagination;but he could tell plain truths in such a way that his hearers oftentrembled as they listened. At such times he looked like an avengingangel. For the man, when he felt called on to rebuke sin, was veryjealous for his God. Then, again, he could whisper comfort; he couldbring down Heaven, and looked, when he spoke of the land which is veryfar off, as though even now, and even here, his eyes were seeing theKing in His beauty. Nevertheless, so little was that real power of hisunderstood, so much better were empty words gracefully strung togetherpreferred, that Home was seldom asked to preach in the large parishchurch. His congregation were generally the very poorest of his flock. These very poor folks learned to love their pastor, and for them hewould very gladly spend and be spent. He was to preach to-morrow in asmall iron building to these poor people. He now sat up late to preparehis sermon. He found himself, however, sadly out of tune for this work. He took his Bible in hand and turned page after page; he could find nosuitable text; he could fix his attention on no particular line ofargument. He unlocked a drawer, and took from thence a pile of oldsermons; should he use one of these? He looked through and through hisstore. None pleased, none satisfied him. Finally, overcome by a suddenfeeling, he forgot his sermon of to-morrow. He pushed his manuscriptsaside, and fell on his knees. He was in terror about the soul of JohnHarman, and he prayed for him in groans that seemed almost as thoughthey must rend the heavens in their pleadings for a reply. "Lord, sparethe man. Lord, hear me; hear me when I plead with Thee. It was forsinners such as he Thou didst die. Oh, spare! oh, save!--save this greatsinner. Give me his soul, Lord. Lord, give me his soul to bring to Theein Heaven. " He went up to bed in the early hours of the May morningquite exhausted. He had absolutely forgotten his sermon. He had notprepared a word for his congregation for the next day. Before he went tochurch he remembered this. There was no help for it now. He could butput two of his already prepared sermons in his pocket and set out. Hewas to read the service as well as to preach the sermon. There wereabout sixty poor people present. Charlotte and the children went to theparish church. There was not a really well-dressed person in all hiscongregation. He had just finished reading the Absolution when a slightstir near the door attracted his attention. He raised his eyes to seethe verger leading up the centre aisle an old man with bowed head andsilver hair, accompanied by a young woman. The young woman Homerecognized at a glance. She was Charlotte Harman; the old man then washer father. He did not ask himself why they had come here or how, butinstantly he said to his own heart, with a great throb of ecstatic joy, "God has heard my prayer; that soul is to be mine. " When he mounted thepulpit stairs he had absolutely forgotten his written sermons. For thefirst time he stood before his congregation without any outward aid ofwritten words, or even notes. He certainly did not need them, for hisheart was full. Out of that heart, burning with love so intense as to bealmost divine, he spoke. I don't think he used any text, but he toldfrom beginning to end the old, old tale of the Prodigal Son. He told itas, it seemed to his congregation, that wonderful story had never beentold since the Redeemer Himself had first uttered the words. Hedescribed the far country, the country where God was not; and the peoplewere afraid and could scarcely draw their breath. Then he told of theFather's forgiveness and the Father's welcome home; and thecongregation, men and women alike, hid their faces and wept. Added tohis earnestness God had given to him the great gift of eloquence to-day. The people said afterwards they scarcely knew their pastor. There wasnot a dry eye in his church that morning. 

CHAPTER LI. 

A SINNER. 

Home went back to his new and pretty house and sat down with his wifeand children, and waited. He would not even tell Charlotte of theseunlooked-for additions to his small congregation. When she asked him ifhe had got on well, if his sermon had been a difficulty, he hadanswered, with a light in his eyes, that God had been with him. Afterthis the wife only took his hand and pressed it. She need question nofurther: but even she wondered at the happy look on his face. 

He had two more services for that day, and also schools to attend, andthrough all his duties, which seemed to come without effort orannoyance, he still waited. He knew as well as if an angel had told himthat he should see more of Mr. Harman. Had he been less assured of thishe would have taken some steps himself to secure a meeting; he wouldhave gone to the daughter, he would have done he knew not what. Buthaving this firm assurance, he did not take any steps; he believed whatGod wished him to do was quietly to wait. 

When he went out on Monday morning he left word with his wife where hemight be found without trouble or delay, if wanted. 

"Is any one ill in the congregation?" she inquired. 

"Some one is ill, but not in the congregation, " he answered. 

He came home, however, late on Monday night, to find that no one hadsent, no one in particular had inquired for him. Still his faith was notat all shaken; he still knew that Harman's soul was to be given to him, and believing that he would like to see him, he felt that he should yetbe summoned to his side. 

On Tuesday morning prayers were to be read in the little iron church. Never full even on Sundays, this one weekday service was very miserablyattended. Home did not often take it, the duty generally devolving onthe youngest curate in the place. He was hurrying past to-day, havingmany sick and poor to attend to, when he met young Davenport--a curateonly just ordained. 

"I am glad I met you, " said the young man, coming up at once andaddressing the older clergyman with a troubled face. "There would nothave been time to have gone round to your place. See, I have had atelegram; my father is ill. I want to catch a train at twelve o'clock togo and see him; I cannot if I take this service. Will it be possible foryou to do the duty this morning?"

"Perfectly possible, " answered Home heartily. "Go off at once, my dearfellow; I will see to things for you until you return. "

The young man was duly grateful, and hurried away at once, and Homeentered the little building. The moment he did so he saw the reason ofit all. Mr. Harman was in the church; he was in the church and alone. His daughter was not with him. There was no sermon that day, and theshort morning prayers were quickly over. The half-dozen poor who hadcome in went out again; but Mr. Harman did not stir. Home took off hissurplice, and hurried down the church. He meant now to speak to Mr. Harman, if Mr. Harman did not speak to him; but he saw that he wouldspeak. As he approached the pew the white-headed old man rose slowly andcame to meet him. 

"Sir, I should like to say a few words to you. "

"As many as you please, my dear sir; I am quite at your service. "

Home now entered the pew and sat down. 

"Shall we talk here or in the vestry?" he inquired, after a moment'ssilence. 

"I thought perhaps you would come to my house later on, " said Mr. Harman. "I have a long story to tell you; I can tell it best at home. Iam very ill, or I would come to you. May I expect you this evening?"

"I will certainly come, " answered Home. "What is your address?"

Mr. Harman gave it. Then, after a pause, he added--

"I seek you as a minister. "

"And I come to you as a servant of God, " replied the curate, now fixinghis eyes on his companion. 

Mr. Harman's gaze did not quail before that steady look. With anunutterable sadness he returned it fully. Then he said, "I came here on Sunday. "

"I saw you, " answered Home. 

"Ah! can it be possible that you preached to me?"

"To you, if you think so. I spoke to every sinner in the congregation. "

"You spoke of a land where God is not; you described the terriblecountry well. "

"An arid land?" answered Home. 

"Ay, a thirsty land. "

"Those that find it so generally find also that they are being led backto a land where God is. "

"You believe, then, in the forgiveness of sin?"

"If I did not I should go mad. "

"My good sir, you are not much of a sinner. "

"I am a sinner, sir; and if I were not--if I dared to lift up my eyes toa holy, a righteous God, and say, 'I am pure'--I yet, if I did notbelieve as fully as I am now sitting by your side in the perfectforgiveness of sin, I yet should go mad; for I have seen other men'ssins and other men's despair; I should lose my reason for their sakes, if not for my own. "

"Should you, indeed? You see now before you a despairing man and a dyingman. "

"And a sinner?" questioned Home. 

"Ay, ay, God knows, a sinner. "

"Then I see also before me a man whose despair can be changed to peace, and his sin forgiven. What hour shall I call upon you this evening?"

Mr. Harman named the hour. Then he rose feebly; Home gave him his armand conducted him to his carriage; afterwards he re-entered the churchto pray. 

CHAPTER LII. 

A HIDDEN SIN. 

Nine o' clock in the evening was the hour named by Mr. Harman, andpunctually at that hour Home arrived at Prince's Gate. He was a man whohad never been known to be late for an appointment; for in little thingseven, this singular man was faithful to the very letter of the trust. This nice observance of his passed word, in a great measure counteractedhis otherwise unpractical nature. Home was known by all hisacquaintances to be a most dependable man. 

Mr. Harman had told Charlotte that he was expecting a friend to visithim. He said he should like to see that friend alone; but, contrary tohis wont, he did not mention his name. This cannot be wondered at, forMr. Harman knew of no connection between the Homes and Charlotte. He hadchosen this man of God, above his fellow-men, because he had beenhaunted and impressed by his sermon, but he scarcely himself even knewhis name. It so happened, however, that Charlotte saw Mr. Home enteringher father's study. It is not too much to say that the sight nearly tookher breath away, and that she felt very considerable disquietude. 

"Sit here, " said Mr. Harman to his guest. 

The room had been comfortably prepared, and when Home entered Mr. Harmangot up and locked the door; then, sitting down opposite to Home, andleaning a little forward, he began at once without preface or preamble. 

"I want to tell you without reservation the story of my life. "

"I have come to listen, " answered Home. 

"It is the story of a sin. "

Home bent his head. 

"It is the story of a successfully hidden sin--a sin hidden from all theworld for three and twenty years. "

"A crushing weight such a sin must have been, " answered the clergyman. "But will you just tell me all from the beginning?"

"I will tell you all from the beginning. A hidden sin is, as you say, heavy enough to crush a man into hell. But I will make no more preface. Sir, I had the misfortune to lose a very noble mother when I was young. When I was ten years old, and my brother (I have one brother) was eight, our mother died! We were but children, you will say; but I don't, evennow that I am a dying, sinful old man, forget my mother. She taught usto pray and to shun sin. She also surrounded us with such high and holythoughts--she so gave us the perfection of all pure mother love, that wemust have been less than human not to be good boys during her lifetime. I remember even now the look in her eyes when I refused on any childishoccasion to follow the good, and then chose the evil. I have adaughter--one beloved daughter, something like my mother. I have seenthe same high and honorable light in her eyes, but never since in anyothers. Well, my mother died, and Jasper and I had only her memory tokeep us right. We used to talk about her often, and often fretted forher as, I suppose, few little boys before or since have fretted for amother. After her death we were sent to school. Our father even then wasa rich man: he was a self-made man; he started a business in a small wayin the City, but small beginnings often make great endings, and thelittle business grew, and grew, and success and wealth came almostwithout effort. Jasper and I never knew what poverty meant. I lovedlearning better than my brother did, and at the age of eighteen, whenJasper went into our father's business, I was sent to Oxford. Attwenty-two I had taken my degree, and done so, not perhaps brilliantly, but with some honor. Any profession was now open to me, and my fathergave me full permission to choose any walk in life I chose; at the sametime he made a proposal. He was no longer so young as he had been; hehad made his fortune; he believed that Jasper's aptitude for businessexcelled his own. If we would become partners in the firm which he hadmade, and which was already rising into considerable eminence, he wouldretire altogether. We young men should work the business in our own way. He was confident we should rise to immense wealth. While making thisproposal our father said that he would not give up his business toJasper alone. If both his sons accepted it, then he would be willing toretire, taking with him a considerable sum of money, but still leavingaffairs both unencumbered and flourishing. 'You are my heirseventually. ' he said to us both; 'and now I give you a week to decide. 'At the end of the allotted time we accepted the offer. This wasprincipally Jasper's doing, for at that time I knew nothing of business, and had thought of a profession. Afterwards I liked the counting-house, and became as absorbed as others in the all-engrossing accumulation ofwealth. Our father had taken a very large sum of money out of thebusiness, and it was impossible for us not to feel for a time aconsiderable strain; but Jasper's skill and talent were simplywonderful, and success attended all our efforts. 

"Two years after I joined the business, I married my Charlotte's mother. I was a wealthy man even then. Though of no birth in particular, I wasconsidered gentlemanly. I had acquired that outward polish which auniversity education gives; I was also good-looking. With my money, goodlooks, and education, I was considered a match for the proud and verypoor daughter of an old Irish baronet. She had no money; she had nothingbut her beautiful face, her high and honorable spirit, her blue blood. You will say, 'Enough!' Ay, it was more than enough. She made me thebest, the truest of wives. I never loved another woman. She was a littlebit extravagant. She had never known wealth until she became my wife, and wealth, in the most innocent way in the world, was delightful toher. While Jasper saved, I was tempted to live largely. I took anexpensive house--there was no earthly good thing I would not have givento her. She loved me; but, as I said, she was proud. Pride in birth andposition was perhaps her only fault. I was perfect in her eyes, but shetook a dislike to Jasper. This I could have borne, but it pained me whenI saw her turning away from my old father. I dearly loved and respectedmy father, and I wanted Constance to love him, but she never could begot to care for him. It was at that time, that that thing happened whichwas the beginning of all the after darkness and misery. 

"My father, finding my proud young wife not exactly to his taste, cameless and less to our house. Finally, he bought an old estate inHertfordshire, and then one day the news reached us that he had engagedhimself to a very young girl, and that he would marry at once. There wasnothing wrong in this marriage, but Jasper and I chose to consider it asin. We had never forgotten our mother, and we thought it a dishonor toher. We forgot our father's loneliness. In short, we were unreasonableand behaved as unreasonably as unreasonable men will on such occasions. Hot and angry words passed between our father and ourselves. We neitherliked our father's marriage nor his choice. Of course, we were scarcelylikely to turn the old man from his purpose, but we refused to haveanything to do with his young wife. Under such circumstances we had anopen quarrel. Our father married, and we did not see him for years. Iwas unhappy at this, for I loved my father. Before his second marriage, he always spent from Saturday to Monday at our house, and though my ownwife not caring for him greatly marred our pleasure, yet now that thevisits had absolutely ceased I missed them--I missed the gray head andthe shrewd, old, kindly face; and often, very often, I almost resolvedto run down into Hertfordshire and make up my quarrel. I did not do so, however; and as the years went on, I grew afraid to mention my father'sname to either my wife or brother. Jasper and I were at this time deeplyabsorbed in speculation; our business was growing and growing; eachthing we embarked in turned out well; we were beginning quite to recoverfrom the strain which our father's removal of so large a sum of moneyhad caused. Jasper was a better man of business than I was. Jasper, though the junior partner, took the lead in all plans. He proposed thatan Australian branch of our business should be opened. It was done, andsucceeded well. 

"About this time we heard that a little son had arrived at the Hermitagein Hertfordshire. He did not live long. We saw his birth announced in_The Times_. It may have been some months later, though, looking back onit, it seems but a few days, that the birth was followed by the death. Ayear or two passed away, and my wife and I were made happy by thearrival of our first child. The child was a daughter. We called herCharlotte, after my much-loved mother. Time went on, until one day atelegram was put into my hand summoning my brother and myself to ourfather's deathbed. The telegram was sent by the young wife. I rushed offat once; Jasper followed by the next train. 

"The hale old man had broken up very suddenly at last, and the doctorsaid he had but a few days to live. During those few days, Jasper and Iscarcely left his bedside; we were reconciled fully and completely, andhe died at last murmuring my own mother's name and holding our hands. 

"It was during this visit that I saw the little wife for the first time. She was a commonplace little thing, but pretty and very young; it wasimpossible to dislike the gentle creature. She was overpowered withgrief at her husband's death. It was impossible not to be kind to her, not to comfort her. There was one child, a girl of about the age of myown little Charlotte. This child had also been named Charlotte. She wasa pale, dark-eyed child, with a certain strange look of my mother abouther. She was not a particle like her own. My father loved this littlecreature, and several times during those last days of his he spoke ofher to me. 

"'I have called her after your own mother, ' he said. 'I love my secondwife; but the Charlotte of my youth can never be forgotten. I havecalled the child Charlotte; you have called your daughter Charlotte. Good! let the two be friends. '

"I promised readily enough, and I felt pity and interest for the littleforlorn creature. I also, as I said, intended to be good to the mother, who seemed to me to be incapable of standing alone. 

"Immediately after my father's death and before the funeral, I wassummoned hastily to town. My wife was dangerously ill. A little deadbaby had come into the world, and for a time her life was despaired of;eventually she got better; but for the next few days I lived and thoughtonly for her. I turned over all business cares to Jasper. I was unableeven to attend our father's funeral. I never day or night leftConstance's bedside. I loved this woman most devotedly, mostpassionately. During all those days when her life hung in the balance, my time seemed one long prayer to God. 'Spare her, spare her preciouslife at any cost, at any cost. ' Those were the words, forever on mylips. The prayer was heard; I had my wife again. For a short time shewas restored to me. I have often thought since, was even that preciouslife worth the price I paid for it?"

Here Mr. Harman paused. Some moisture had gathered on his brow; he tookout his handkerchief to wipe it away. A glass of water stood by hisside; he drank a little. 

"I am approaching the sin, " he said addressing the clergyman. "Thesuccessfully buried sin is about to rise from its grave; pardon me if Ishrink from the awful sight. "

"God will strengthen you, my dear sir, " answered Home. "By yourconfession, you are struggling back into the right path. What do I say?Rather you are being led back by God himself. Take courage. Lean uponthe Almighty arm. Your sin will shrink in dimensions as you view it; forbetween you and it will come forgiveness. "

Mr. Harman smiled faintly, After another short pause, he continued. 

"On the day on which my dear wife was pronounced out of danger, Jaspersent for me. My brother and I had ever been friends, though in no oneparticular were we alike. During the awful struggle through which I hadjust passed. I forgot both him and my father. Now I remembered him andmy father's death, and our own business cares. A thousand memories cameback to me. When he sent for me I left my wife's bedside and went downto him. I was feeling weak and low, for I had not been in bed for manynights, and a kind of reaction had set in. I was in a kind of state whena man's nerves can be shaken, and his whole moral equilibrium upset. Ido not offer this as an excuse for what followed. There is no excuse forthe dark sin; but I do believe enough about myself to say that what Ithen yielded to, I should have been proof against at a stronger physicalmoment. I entered my private sitting-room to find Jasper pacing up anddown like a wild creature. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair tossed. Hewas a calm and cheerful person generally. At this instant, he lookedlike one half bereft of reason. 'Good heavens! what is wrong?' I said. Iwas startled out of myself by his state of perturbation. 

"'We are ruined; that is what is wrong, ' answered Jasper. 

"He then entered into particulars with which I need not trouble you. Agreat house, one of the greatest and largest houses in the City, hadcome to absolute grief; it was bankrupt. In its fall many other houses, ours amongst them, must sink. 

"I saw it all quite plainly. I sat down quiet and stunned; while Jasperraved and swore and paced up and down the room, I sat still. Yes wewere, beggars, nothing could save the house which our father had madewith such pride and care. 

"After a time I left Jasper and returned to my wife's room. On the way Ientered the nursery and paid my pretty little Charlotte a visit. Sheclimbed on my knee and kissed me, and all the time I kept saying tomyself, 'The child is a beggar, I can give her no comforts; we areabsolutely in want. ' It was the beginning of the winter then, and theweather was bitterly cold. The doctor met me on the threshold of mywife's room; he said to me, 'As soon as ever she is better, you musteither take or send her out of England. She may recover abroad; but towinter in this climate, in her present state, would certainly kill her. 'How bitter I felt; for was I not a beggar? How could I take my wifeaway? I sat down again in the darkened room and thought over the past. Hitherto the wealth, which was so easily won, seemed of comparativelysmall importance. It was easy with a full purse to wish, then to obtain. I had often wondered at Constance's love for all the pretty things withwhich I delighted to surround her, her almost childish pleasure in theriches which had come to her. She always said to me at such times:

"'But I have known such poverty; I hate poverty, and I love, I love thepretty things of life. '

"This very night, as I sat by her bedside, she opened her lovely eyesand looked at me and said:

"'John, I have had such a dream so vivid, so, so terrible. I thought wewere poor again--poorer than I ever was even with my father; so poor, John, that I was hungry, and you could give me nothing to eat. I beggedyou to give me food. There was a loaf in a shop window, such a nicecrisp loaf; and I was starving. When you said you had no money, I beggedof you to steal that loaf. You would not, you would not, and at last Ilay down to die. Oh! John, say it was a dream. '

"'Of course it was only a dream, my darling!' I answered, and I kissedher and soothed her, though all the time my heart felt like lead. 

"That evening Jasper sent for me again. His manner now was changed. Thewildness and despair had left it. He was his old, cool, collected self. He was in the sort of mood when he always had an ascendency over me--thesort of mood when he showed that wonderful business faculty for which Icould not but admire him. 

"'Sit down, John, ' he said, 'I have a great deal to say to you. There isa plan in my head. If you will agree to act with me in it, we may yet besaved. '

"Thinking of my Constance lying so ill upstairs, my heart leaped up atthese words. 

"'What is your plan?' I said. 'I can stay with you for some time. I canlisten as long as you like. '

"'You hate poverty?' said Jasper. 

"'Yes, ' I said, thinking of Constance, 'I hate it. '

"'If you will consent to my scheme; if you will consent before you leavethis room, we need not sink with Cooper, Cooper and Bennett. '

"'I will listen to you, ' I said. 

"'You have always been so absorbed lately in your wife, ' continuedJasper, 'that you have, I really believe, forgotten our father's death:his funeral was last Thursday. Of course you could not attend it. Afterthe funeral I read the will. '

"'Yes, ' I said, 'I had really forgotten my father's will. He left usmoney?' I said. 'I am glad; it will keep us from absolute want. Constance need not be hungry after all. '

"My brother looked at me. 

"'A little money has been left to us, ' he said, 'but so little that itmust go with the rest. In the general crash those few thousands mustalso go. John, you remember when our father took that very large sum outof the business, he promised that we should be his heirs. It was a loanfor his lifetime. '

"'He had not married then, ' I said. 

"'No, ' answered Jasper, 'he had not married. Now that he has married hehas forgotten all but this second wife. He has left her, with theexception of a few thousands, the whole of that fine property. In short, he has left her a sum of money which is to realize an income of twelvehundred a year. '

"'Yes, ' I said, wearily. 

"Jasper looked at me very hard. I returned his gaze. 

"'That money, if left to us, would save the firm. _Quite absolutely savethe firm in this present crisis_, ' he said, slowly and emphatically. 

"'Yes, ' I said again. I was so innocent, so far from what I sincebecame, at that moment, that I did not in the least understand mybrother. 'The money is not ours, ' I said, seeing that his eyes werestill fixed on me with a greedy intense light. 

"'If my father were alive now, ' said Jasper, rising to his feet andcoming to my side, 'if my father were alive now, he would break hisheart, to see the business which he made with such pride and skill, cometo absolute grief. If my father were still alive; if that crash had comebut a fortnight ago, he would say, 'Save the firm at any cost. '

"'But he is dead, ' I said, 'we cannot save the firm. What do you mean, Jasper? I confess I cannot see to what you are driving. '

"'John, ' said my brother, 'you are stupid. If our father could speak tous now, he would say, 'Take the money, all the money I have left, andsave the firm of Harman Brothers. '

"'You mean, ' I said, 'you mean that we--we are to _steal_ that money, the money left to the widow, and the fatherless?'

"I understood the meaning now. I staggered to my feet. I could havefelled my brother to the ground. He was my brother, my only brother; butat that moment, so true were my heart's instincts to the good andright, that I loathed him. Before however, I could say a word, or uttera reproach, a message came to me from my wife. I was wanted in my wife'sroom instantly, she was excited, she was worse. I flew away without aword. 

"'Come back again, I will wait for you here, ' called after me mybrother. 

"I entered Constance's room. I think she was a little delirious. She wasstill talking about money, about being hungry and having no money to buybread. Perhaps a presentiment of _the_ evil news had come to her. I hadto soothe, to assure her that all she desired should be hers. I eventook my purse out and put it into her burning hand. At last she believedme; she fell asleep with her hand in mine. I dared not stir from her;and all the time as I sat far into the night, I thought over Jasper'swords. They were terrible words, but I could not get them out of myhead, they were burning like fire into my brain. At last Constanceawoke; she was better, and I could leave her. It was now almost morning. I went to my study, for I could not sleep. To my surprise, Jasper wasstill there. It was six hours since I had left him, but he had notstirred. 

"'John, ' he said, seeing that I shrank from him, 'you must hear me out. Call my plan by as ugly a name as you like, no other plan will save thefirm. John, will you hear me speak?'

"'Yes, I will hear you, ' I said. I sank down on the sofa. My head wasreeling. Right and wrong seemed confused. I said to myself, My brain isso confused with grief and perplexity that it is no matter what Jaspersays just now, for I shall not understand him. But I found to mysurprise, almost to my horror, that I understood with startlingclearness every word. This was Jasper's plan. There were three trusteesto the will; I was one, my brother Jasper another, a third was a man bythe name of Alexander Wilson. He was brother to my father's second wife. This Alexander Wilson I had never seen. Jasper had seen him once. Hedescribed him to me as a tall and powerful man with red hair. 'He is theother trustee, ' said my brother, 'and he is dead. '

"'Dead!' I said, starting. 

"'Yes, he is without doubt dead; here is an account of his death. '

"Jasper then opened an Australian paper and showed me the name, alsothe full account of a man who answered in all particulars to theAlexander Wilson named as a third trustee. Jasper then proceeded tounfold yet further his scheme. 

"That trustee being dead, we were absolute masters of the situation, wecould appropriate that money. The widow knew nothing yet of herhusband's will; she need never know. The sum meant for her was, underexisting circumstances, much too large. She should not want, she shouldhave abundance. But we too should not want. Were our father living hewould ask us to do this. We should save ourselves and the great house ofHarman Brothers. In short, to put the thing in plain language, weshould, by stealing the widow's money, save ourselves. By beingfaithless to our most solemn trust, we could keep the filthy lucre. Iwill not say how I struggled. I did struggle for a day; in the evening Iyielded. I don't excuse myself in the very least. In the evening I fellas basely as a man could fall. I believe in my fall I sank even lowerthan Jasper. I said to him, 'I cannot bear poverty, it will killConstance, and Constance must not die; but you must manage everything. Ican go into no details; I can never, never as long as I live, see thatwidow and child. You must see them, you must settle enough, abundance onthem, but never mention their names to me. I can do the deed, but thevictims must be dead to me. '

"To all this Jasper promised readily enough. He promised and acted. Allwent, outwardly, smoothly and well; there was no hitch, no outward flaw, no difficulty, the firm was saved; none but we two knew how nearly ithad been engulfed in hopeless shipwreck. It recovered itself by means ofthat stolen money, and flew lightly once again over the waters ofprosperity. Yes, our house was saved, and from that hour my happinessfled. I had money, money in abundance and to spare; but I never knewanother hour, day or night, of peace. I had done the deed to save mywife, but I found that, though God would give me that cursed wealth, Heyet would take away my idol for whom I had sacrificed my soul. Constanceonly grew well enough to leave England. We wintered abroad, and atCannes, surrounded by all that base money could supply, she closed hereyes. I returned home a widower, and the most wretched man on the faceof the earth. Soon after, the Australian branch of our business growingand growing, Jasper found it well to visit that country. He did so, andstayed away many years. Soon after he landed, he wrote to tell me thathe had seen the grave of Alexander Wilson; that he had made manyinquiries about him, and that now there was not the least shadow ofdoubt that the other trustee was dead. He said that our last fears ofdiscovery might now rest. 

"Years went by, and we grew richer and richer; all we put our hands toprospered. Money seemed to grow for us on every tree. I could give myone child all that wealth could suggest. She grew up unsullied by whatwas eating into me as a canker. She was beautiful alike in mind andbody; she was and is the one pure and lovely thing left to me. Shebecame engaged to a good and honorable man. He had, it is true, neithermoney nor position, but I had learned, through all these long years ofpain, to value such things at their true worth. Charlotte should marrywhere her heart was. I gave her leave to engage herself to Hinton. Shortly after that engagement, Jasper, my brother, returned fromAustralia. His presence, reminding me, as it did, day and night, of mycrime, but added to my misery of soul. I was surprised, too, to see howeasily what was dragging me to the very gate of hell seemed to rest onhim. I could never discover, narrowly as I watched him, that he wasanything but a happy man. One evening, after spending some hours in hispresence, I fainted away quite suddenly. I was alone when this faintingfit overtook me. I believe I was unconscious for many hours. The nextday I went to consult a doctor. Then and there, in that greatphysician's consulting-room, I learned that I am the victim of anincurable complaint; a complaint that must end my life, must end itsoon, and suddenly. In short, the doctor said to me, not in words, butby look, by manner, by significant hand pressure, and that silentsympathy which speaks a terrible fact. 'Prepare to meet thy God. ' Sincethe morning I left the doctor's presence I have been trying to prepare;but between God and me stands my sin. I cannot get a glimpse of God. Iwait, and wait, but I only see the awful sin of my youth. In short, sir, I am in the far country where God is not. "

"To die so would be terrible, " said Mr. Home. 

"To die so will be terrible, sir; in, short, it will be hell. "

"Do not put it in the future tense, Mr. Harman, for you that day ispast. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that even now, though you know it not, you are no longer in thefar country. You are the prodigal son if you like, but you are on theroad back to the Father. You are on the homeward road, and the Father islooking out for you. When you come to die you will not be alone, thehand of God will hold yours, and the smile of a forgiving God will sayto you, as the blessed Jesus said once to a poor sinful woman, who yetwas not _half_ as great a sinner as you are, 'Thy sins, which are many, are forgiven thee. '"

"You believe then in the greatness of my sin?"

"I believe, I _know_ that your sin was enormous; but so also is yourrepentance. "

"God knows I repent, " answered Mr. Harman. 

"Yes; when you asked me to visit you, and when you poured out that storyin my ears, your long repentance and anguish of heart were beginning tofind vent. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you will make reparation. "

"Ay, indeed I am more than willing. Zacchæus restored fourfold. "

"Yes, the road for you, straight to the bosom of the Father, is veryprickly and full of sharp thorns. You have held a high character forhonor and respectability. You have a child who loves you, who hasthought you perfect. You must step down from your high pedestal. Youmust renounce the place you have held in your child's heart. In short, you must let your only child, and also the cold, censorious world, seeyou as God has seen you for so long. "

"I don't mind the world, but--my child--my only child, " said Mr. Harman, and now he put up his trembling hands and covered his face. "That is avery hard road, " he said after a pause. 

"There is no other back to the Father, " answered the clergyman. 

"Well, I will take it then, for I _must_ get back to Him. You are a manof God. I put myself in your hands. What am I to do?"

"You put yourself not into my hands, sir, but into the loving andmerciful hands of my Lord Christ. The course before you is plain. Youmust find out those you have robbed; you must restore all, and ask thesewronged ones' forgiveness. When they forgive, the peace of God willshine into your heart. "

"You mean the widow and the child. But I do not know anything of them; Ihave shut my eyes to their fate. "

"The widow is dead, but the child lives; I happen to know her; I canbring her to you. "

"Can you? How soon?"

"In an hour and a half from now if you like. I should wish you to restin that peace I spoke of before morning. Shall I bring her to-night?"

"Yes, I will see her; but first, first, will you pray with me?"

Mr. Home knelt down at once. The gray-headed and sinful man knelt by hisside. Then the clergyman hurried away to fetch his wife. 

CHAPTER LIII. 

THE PRINCE OF PEACE. 

It was very nearly midnight when Mr. Home, entering the sitting-roomwhere his wife waited up for him, asked her to come with him at once. 

"There is a hansom at the door, " he said, "put on your bonnet and come. I will tell you all as we drive along; come at once, we have not amoment to lose. "

Charlotte Home, accustomed as Home's wife to imperative demands, onlythought of a night's nursing of some specially poor patient. She rosewithout a word, and in two minutes they were driving, as fast as a fleethorse could take them to Prince's Gate. 

"Charlotte, " said her husband, taking her hand, "God has heard myprayer, God has given me the man's soul. "

"Whose soul, my dearest?"

"The soul of John Harman. Charlotte, I have prayed as I never prayedbefore in all my life for that guilty and troubled sinner's soul. I havebeen in an agony for it; it has seemed to me at times that for this lostand suffering brother I could lay down my very life. On Sunday last Iwent to conduct service in the small iron church. I tried the nightbefore to prepare a sermon; no thought would come to me. I tried at lastto look up an old one; no old sermon would commend itself. Finally Idropped all thought of the morrow's sermon and spent the greater part ofthe night in prayer. My prayer was for this sinner, and it seemed to me, that as I struggled and pleaded, God the Father and God the Son drewnigh. I went to bed with a wonderfully close sense of their presence. Atmorning prayers the next day, Miss Harman and her father entered thechurch. You may well look at me in surprise, Charlotte, but when I sawthem I felt quiet enough; I only knew that God had sent them. For thefirst time in my life I preached without note or written help. I felt, however, at no loss for words; my theme was the Prodigal Son. I thoughtonly of Mr. Harman; I went home and continued to pray for him. OnTuesday morning--that is, this morning--he was again at the church. After the prayers were over he waited to speak to me: he asked me tovisit him at his own house this evening. I went there; I have been withhim all the evening; he told me his life story, the bitter story of hisfall. I am now come for you, for he must confess to you--you are thewronged one. "

"I am going to see John Harman, my half-brother who has wronged me?"said Mrs. Home; "I am going to him now without preparation? Oh! Angus, Icannot, not to-night, not to-night. "

"Yes, dear, it must be to-night; if there is any hardness left in yourheart it will melt when you see this sinner, whom God has forgiven. "

"Angus, you are all tenderness and love to him; I cannot aspire to yournature, I cannot. To this man, who has caused such misery and sin, Ifeel hard. Charlotte I pity, Charlotte I love; but this man, this manwho deliberately could rob my dead mother! It is against human nature tofeel very sorry for him. "

"You mean to tell me, Charlotte, that you refuse to forgive him?"

"No; eventually you will conquer me; but just now, I confess, my heartis not full of pity. "

Mr. Home thought for a moment. He was pained by his wife's want ofsympathy. Then he reflected that she had not seen Mr. Harman. It wasplain, however, that they must not meet until her spirit towards him hadchanged. 

"Do not stop at Prince's Gate, " he called out to the cabby, "drive onuntil I ask you to stop. "

During the drive that followed, he told his wife Mr. Harman's story. Hetold it well, for when he had finished, Charlotte turned to him eyeswhich had shed some tears. 

"Does Charlotte know of this?" she said. 

"I do not think so. Will you come to Mr. Harman now?"

"Yes. I will come on one condition!"

"What is that?"

"That I may see Charlotte afterwards. "

"I am sure that can be managed. "

Then Mr. Home desired the cabby to stop at Prince's Gate. Asleepy-looking servant waited up for them. He manifested no surprise atsight of the lady and gentleman at such an hour. Mr. Home took hiswife's hand, and the servant led them straight to his master's study. 

"I have told her the story, " said Mr. Home; "she is your father's child, she comes to----" Here the clergyman paused and looked at his wife, hewanted the word "forgive" to come from her own lips. Mrs. Home had grownwhite to her very lips. Now instead of replying, she fell upon her kneesand covered her face. 

"Charlotte, " said Mr. Harman, "can you do what this clergyman wants? Canyou forgive the sin?" There was no answer; Mrs. Home was sobbing aloud. "I have robbed you, I have robbed you most cruelly. My dying fatherasked me to be good to you; I have been worse than cruel. You see beforeyou an old, old man, as great a sinner as can be found on God's earth. Can you forgive me? Dare I ask it? At last, at last I make fullreparation; I repent me, in dust and ashes; I repent, and I restore allfourfold. " But here Charlotte Home had risen suddenly to her feet. Shecame up close to Mr. Harman, and taking his hand raised it to her lips. 

"My husband has told me all. I, I quite forgive you, " she said. 

Mr. Harman glanced at the clergyman. "Your husband?" he said. 

"Yes; she is my wife, " answered Mr. Home. "Sir, you heard my wife saythat she quite forgives. You may go to rest to-night, with a verypeaceful heart; the peace of God which passes all understanding mayencompass your pillow to-night. It is late and you have gone throughmuch, may I go with you to your room? There will be many explanationsyet to make; but though a clergyman, I am also in some measure aphysician. I see you can go through no more emotion to-night, restsatisfied that all explanations can wait till to-morrow. "

"I will go with you, " answered Mr. Harman, "but may I first thank yourwife?" Charlotte Home's bonnet had fallen off as she knelt on the floor, now suddenly a withered and trembling hand was placed on her head. "Godbless you! Even from a sinner like me, such words from a full heart mustbe heard. "

"Ay, " said Mr. Home, in a loud, exultant voice, "the Prince of peace andforgiveness has come into this house to-night. "

CHAPTER LIV. 

CHARLOTTE'S ROOM. 

Mr. Home and Mr. Harman went away together, and Charlotte was left alonein the study. By the profound stillness which now reigned in the houseshe guessed that every one had gone to bed. The servant who had admittedthem at so late an hour had looked sleepy as he had done so. DoubtlessMr. Harman had desired him not to wait longer. Charlotte felt there wasno use in ringing a bell. She scarcely knew her way about this greathouse. Nevertheless she must find Charlotte; she could not wait untilthe morning to throw her arms round her neck. She took one of thecandles from the mantelpiece and began her tour through the silenthouse. She felt strangely timid as she commenced this midnightpilgrimage. The softly-carpeted stairs echoed back no footfall; shepassed door after door. At last she recognized Charlotte's own privatesitting-room, she had been there two or three times, but had never seenthe room where her friend slept. A corridor, however, ran directly fromthis sitting-room, and Charlotte saw a closed door at the further end. "That must be the room, " she said to herself, and she went straighttowards it. The door was closed, but Charlotte heard a faint soundwithin. Instantly on hearing it she knocked lightly, but distinctly. There was a quick sound of hurried and surprised feet, and CharlotteHarman opened the door. Her eyes were heavy and red, as though she hadbeen weeping. Her face was pale. She had not begun to undress. 

"Charlotte; Charlotte Home!" she exclaimed. "Oh, what is wrong? Myfather!"

"Nothing is wrong, dear Charlotte, dear, dear Charlotte; but may I comein? I have a great deal to tell you. "

"Oh, I shall be glad! but how astonished I am to see you. I could notsleep. Yes, come in, you shall keep me company. Charlotte, you have beencrying. Charlotte, there _is_ something wrong. "

"You may well be surprised to see me here, " said Mrs. Home, "but, strange as it may seem, things are more right than wrong. My husbandcame first, then he brought me. "

"Yes, I saw Mr. Home early in the evening. I saw him go into my father'sstudy. When he went away I went there myself; but the door was locked, and my father called out from within, 'Not to-night, my child; don't situp for me, come to me in the morning, I would rather be alone to-night. 'He never before refused to see me to say good-night. I went to my room. I could not rest. Everything seems very dark. I have been crying, andnow you have come. Oh, Charlotte! what is the meaning of it all?"

"The meaning is good, Charlotte; but good or bad, you have to thankyourself for it. Why did you take your father to my husband's church onSunday?"

"He came to me on Sunday morning, " answered Miss Harman. "He said hewould like to go to church with me. He never did go to church withme--never, for many months. I asked him where he would go. He said hewould leave it to me. Then it flashed across me that he did not know Mr. Home, also that I had never heard Mr. Home preach. I resolved to go tohis church. We drove to Kentish Town. I made a few inquiries. I foundout the little church where your husband told the people of hiscongregation how best to live, how best to die. Ah, Charlotte! he _did_preach to us. What a man he is!"

"He realizes the absolute daily presence of God more perfectly than anyman I ever met, " answered the wife. "My dear, it was God himself led youto my husband's church on Sunday. Your father went there again to-day. After the service he stopped to speak to Angus. He asked him to come tohim this evening. This evening he told my husband all; all the story ofhis sin, his repentance. Angus heard all, and when it was over he sentfor me. I saw your father. Charlotte, your father may have been asinner, but with such sinners, as he was once, the New Jerusalem will befilled by and by. Ah! thank God for the peace I saw on his face before Ileft him. Do you know that he put his hand on my head and blessed me. Angus is with him now, and I have come to you. "

"My father has told all!" said Charlotte Harman. Her face could scarcelygrow any whiter. She made no further exclamation, but sat quiet. Charlotte Home, having told her story, watched her face. Suddenly, withtears springing to her eyes, she turned to the wife and mother who stoodby her side. 

"Charlotte, how hard my heart has been! I have passed through somedreadful weeks. Oh! how heavy was my burden, how heavy was my heart! Myheart was growing very hard; but the hardness has gone now. Now, Charlotte, I believe, I believe fully what your little Harold said to mesome weeks ago. "

"What did he say to you, dearest?"

"He said that Jesus Christ loved me very much. Yes, I believe Jesus doeslove me very much. Oh, Charlotte! do you know that I am tired andrested, and I want to sleep altogether. Will you lie down beside me? Youwill not leave me to-night?"

"No, darling; I will not leave you to-night. "

CHAPTER LV. 

HOW SANDY WILSON SPEAKS OUT HIS MIND. 

Early in the morning, the father and daughter met. Not very many wordspassed between them. Mr. Harman knew that Mrs. Home had told Charlotteall. Now, coming to his side, she put her arms about him, and knelt, looking into his face. 

"Charlotte, you know what I have been, " he said. 

"Father, I know what you are now, " she answered. 

After these few words, she would scarcely allow him to speak again, forhe was very weak, too weak to leave his bed; but later on, in the courseof the day, they had a long talk together, and Charlotte told her fatherof her own suffering during the past weeks. There was no longer need ofconcealment between them, and Charlotte made none. It was a very fewdays later that two trustees of the late Mr. Harman's will saw eachother for the first time. 

Sandy Wilson had often looked forward to the moment when he could speakout his mind as to the enormity of the crime committed by Mr. Harman. Hitherto, this worthy man had felt that in this respect circumstanceshad been hard on him. _His_ Daisy, his pretty little gentle sister, hadbeen treated as hardly, as cruelly, as woman could be treated, and yetthe robber--for was he not just a common robber?--had got off scot free;he was to get off scot free to the very end; he was to be let die inpeace; and afterwards, his innocent child, his only daughter, must bearthe brunt of his misdeeds. She must be put to grief and shame, while he, the one on whose head the real sin lay, escaped. Sandy felt that itwould have been some slight relief to his wounded feelings if he couldfind some one to whom he could thoroughly and heartily abuse Mr. Harman. But even this satisfaction was denied him. Mr. Home was a man who wouldlisten to abuse of none; and even Charlotte, though her eyes did flashwhen his name was mentioned, even she was simply silent, and to all therest of the world Sandy must keep the thing a secret. 

There was no doubt whatever that when, the day after Mr. Harman'sconfession, the Homes came to Uncle Sandy and told him, not only all, but also that at any moment he might receive a summons to visit Mr. Harman, he felt a sense of exultation; also that his exultation wascaused, not by the fact that his niece would now get back her own, forhe had supplied her immediate need for money, but by the joyful sensethat at last, at last, he, Sandy, could speak out his full mind. Hecould show this bad man, about whom every one was so strangely, soabsurdly silent, what _he_ thought of his conduct to his dear littlesister. He went away to Prince's Gate, when at last the summons came, bristling over with a quite delightful sense of power. How well he wouldspeak! how cleverly he would insert the arrow of remorse into that cruelheart! As he entered the house he was met by Miss Harman. She held outher hand to him without a word, and led him to the door of her father'sstudy. Her eyes, however, as she looked at him for a moment, wereeloquent. Those eyes of hers had exercised a power over him in SomersetHouse; they were full of pleading now. He went into Mr. Harman'spresence softened, a little confused, and with his many excellent, tothe point, and scathing remarks running riot in his brain. 

Thus it came to pass that Sandy said no word of reproach to thebroken-down man who greeted him. Nay, far from reproaching, he felthimself sharing in the universal pity. Where God's hand was smitinghard, how could man dare to raise his puny arm?

The two trustees, meeting for the first time after all these years, talked long over that neglected, that unfulfilled trust, and steps wereput in train to restore to Charlotte Home what had for so many yearsbeen held back from her. This large sum, with all back interest, wouldmake the once poor Charlotte very rich indeed. There would still be, after all was settled, something left for Charlotte Harman, but thepositions of the two were now virtually reversed. 

"There is one thing which still puzzles me, " said Mr. Harman before theyparted. "Leaving my terrible share in this matter alone, my brother andI could never have carried out our scheme if you had not been supposedto be dead. How is it you gave no sign of your existence for three andtwenty years? My brother even wrote me word from Australia that he hadhimself stood on your grave. "

"He stood on the grave of Sandy Wilson, but never on mine, " answered theother trustee. "There was a fellow bearing my name, who was with me inthe Bush. He was the same age. He was like me too in general outline;big, with red hair and all that kind of thing. His name was put into thepapers, and I remember wondering if the news would reach home, and if mylittle Daisy--bless her!--would think it was me. I was frightfully poorat the time, I had scarcely sixpence to bless myself with, and somehow, your father, sir, though he did eventually trust me, as circumstancesproved, yet he gave me to understand that in marrying the sister he byno means intended to take the brother to his bosom. I said to myself, 'Apoor lost dog like Sandy may as well appear to be dead to those at home. I love no one in England but my little Daisy, and she does not need me, she has abundance without me. ' So I ceased to write. I had gone to apart of the country where even an English paper reached us but once ortwice a year. I heard nothing of the old home; and by degrees I got outof the habit of writing. I was satisfied to be considered dead. I didwrong, I confess. "

"By coming back, by proclaiming your existence, you could have exposedme years ago, " said Mr. Harman; "how I dreaded exposure; how little Iknew, when it did come, that it would fall lightly in comparisonwith----"

"What?" asked Wilson. 

"The awful frown of God's displeasure. Man, to be shut away from Godthrough your own sin is to be in hell. I have dwelt there for three andtwenty years. Until two nights ago, I have known no peace; now, I knowGod can forgive even such a sin as mine. "

"I believe you have suffered, Mr. Harman, " answered Wilson. "For thematter of that, we are all poor sinners. God have mercy upon us all!"

"Amen, " said Mr. Harman. 

And that was all the reproof Sandy ever found in his heart to give tohis fellow trustee. 

CHAPTER LVI. 

MRS. HOME'S DREAM. 

Still, there was a weight on Charlotte Home's mind. Much had been givento her, so much that she could scarcely believe herself to be the samewoman, who a few short months ago had pawned her engagement ring to buyher little son a pair of shoes. She was now wealthy beyond her wildestdreams; she was wealthy not only in money but in friends. CharlotteHarman was her almost daily companion. Charlotte Harman clung to herwith an almost passionate love. Uncle Sandy, too, had made himself, byhis cheerfulness, his generosity, his kindness of nature, a warm placein her affections; and Mr. Harman saw her more than once, and she foundthat she could love even Mr. Harman. Then--how well, how beautiful herchildren looked! How nice it was to see them surrounded by those goodthings of life which, despise them as some people will, still add charmsto those who possess them! Above all, how happy her dear husband was!Angus Home's face was like the sun itself, during the days whichfollowed Mr. Harman's confession. This sunshine with him had nothing tosay to the altered and improved circumstances of his life; but it had agreat deal to say to the altered circumstances of his mind. God hadmost signally, most remarkably, heard his prayer. He had given to himthe soul for which he pleaded. Through all eternity that suffering, andonce so sinful, soul was safe. Mr. Home rejoiced over that redeemed soulas one who finds great spoil. Added love to God filled his gratefulheart; his faith in God became more and more, day by day, a mightypower. Thus Charlotte Home was surrounded by as much sunshine as oftenvisits a human being in this mortal life; yet still this unreasonablewoman was discontented. The fact was, success had made her bold. She hadobtained what her heart had pined for. She wanted another little drop ofbliss to complete her overflowing cup. Charlotte Home was unselfish inher joy. There was a shadow on another's brow. She wanted that shadow todepart; in short, she wanted Hinton and Charlotte to meet; not only tomeet, but as quickly as possible to marry. Charlotte's heart was stillwith this lover whom she had given up, and who seemed to have forsakenher. Mrs. Home saw this, though on the subject of Hinton Charlotte stillrefused to speak. She said once, and only once, to her friend:

"We have parted, we have most absolutely parted. There is no use nowlooking back on the past; he must never share my disgrace. Yes, my dearand beloved father has repented nobly: but the disgrace remains. He mustnever share it. He sees the wisdom of this himself, so we will not speakof him, dear Charlotte; I can bear it best so. "

This little speech was made with great firmness; but there was astrained look about the lips, and a sorrow about the eyes which Mrs. Home understood very well. She must not speak, but no one could preventher acting. She resolved to leave no stone unturned to bring these twotogether again. In doing this she would act for the good of two whom sheloved, for Hinton was also very dear to her. She could never forgetthose nights when he sat by the bed of her almost dying child. She couldnever forget the prompt interference which saved that child's life. Shehad learned enough of his character, during those few weeks which theyhad spent together, to feel sure that no disgrace such as Charlottefeared would influence him to cause her pain. It is true she could notin any measure account for his absence and his silence; but she wasquite wise enough and quite clever enough to believe that both could besatisfactorily accounted for. She could, however, do nothing withoutseeing Hinton. How could she see him? She had written to his chambers, she had written to his lodgings; from both addresses had the lettersbeen returned. She thought of advertising. She lay awake at night tryingto devise some scheme. At last one night she had a dream; so farcurious, in that it conducted her to the desired end. She dreamt thatHinton came to Waterloo station, not to remain in London, but to passthrough to another part of England. There was nothing more in her dream;nevertheless, she resolved to go to that station on the next day. Herdream had not even pointed to any particular hour. She looked in_Bradshaw_, saw when a great express from the south was due, and startedoff on what might truly be called a wild-goose chase. 

Nevertheless, instinct, if nothing higher, had guided Charlotte Home;for the first person she saw stepping out of a carriage of this verytrain was Hinton. She saw Hinton, he also saw her. 

"You must come with me, " she said, going up to him and laying her handon his arm. "You must come with me, and at once, for God has sent me toyou. "

"But I cannot, " he answered, "I am catching another train at Euston. Iam going on special business to Scotland. It is important. I cannot putit off. I am ever so sorry; but I must jump into a cab at once. " He heldout his hand as he spoke. 

Mrs. Home glanced into his face. His face was changed; it was pale andworn. There was a hard look about both eyes and mouth, which bothaltered and considerably spoiled his expression. 

"I will not keep you if you still wish to go, after hearing my story, "answered Mrs. Home; "but there will be room for two in your hansom. Youdo not object to my driving with you to Euston?"

Hinton could not say he objected to this, though in his heart he feltboth annoyed and surprised. 

As they were driving along, Mrs. Home said, --

"Have you heard anything lately of Mr. Harman?"

To this Hinton replied, "I have not; and pardon me, Mr. Harman does notinterest me. "

"Ah!" said Mrs. Home, "he interests me very much. He--he told my husbanda strange tale--a tale about himself. "

"Did he confess his guilt? I know that he is a very sinful man. "

"He has been a great sinner, but he has repented. He has confessed thatearly and terrible sin of his youth. He has not only confessed, but heis taking steps to make full reparation. "

"Indeed! then you will come into your rights? Let me congratulate you. "

"You knew of his sin? You knew what his sin was Mr. Hinton?"

"Yes, I knew. "

"Charlotte had hoped to keep that disgrace from you. "

"Ah!"

"She gave you another reason for breaking off her engagement?"

"Yes, a weak and futile one. She could not expect me to believe it. Idid what she had but done before me. I went to Somerset House and sawthat will which has been so greatly abused. "

"She never knew that. "

"Pardon me, she did. "

"I fear I must be rude enough to contradict you. She said mostdistinctly that you were fully satisfied with the reasons she had givenfor breaking off the engagement, that perhaps you might never now learnwhat her father had done. "

Hinton looked at his companion in some perplexity. 

"But I wrote to her, " he said. "I wrote a letter which, it seemed to me, any woman who had a spark even of kindness would have answered. In thatletter, I told her that I held her to her promise; that I knew all; thateven if she did not write to me I would call and try to see her. Shenever replied to my letter, and when, after waiting for twenty-fourhours, I went to the house, she absolutely refused to see me. "

"She never knew you called, " answered Mrs. Home, "and she never got yourletter. "

"Good heavens! how do you know?"

"I know her too well; but I will ask her directly. "

Hinton was silent. 

After a short pause, Mrs. Home broke out passionately, --

"How dare you insinuate doubts of so noble a creature?"

"I could only believe facts. "

"Has a letter never gone astray? Has a letter never failed to reach thehands it was meant for? Mr. Hinton, I am ashamed of you. "

"If you can prove that she never got it?"

"I know she never got it. She is changed; her heart is half broken. ButI will prove it. I will go to her at once. Are you still going toScotland?"

"I need not go until I hear from you. You have astonished me greatly. "

"Then drive to my house. Ah! you do not know our new address; it is ----;wait for me there, I will be with you in an hour or so. "

CHAPTER LVII. 

JOHN. 

Hinton went to Mrs. Home's house. The children were out, Mr. Home wasnot visible. Anne, now converted into a neat parlor-maid, received himwith broad grins of pleasure. She ushered him into the pretty, newly-furnished drawing-room, and asked him to wait for her mistress. 

"Missis 'ull be back afore long, " she said, lingering a little toreadjust the blinds, and half hoping, half expecting, Hinton to makesome surprised and approving remark on the changed circumstances of theHomes' surroundings. 

He made none, however; and Anne, with a slight sigh, left him alone. When she did so he rose to his feet and began to pace quickly up anddown the room. After a time, half an hour or so, he pulled out hiswatch. Yes, he had already lost that express to the north. A good pieceof business would probably be also lost. But what matter! beyondascertaining the fact that he had missed his train, he did not give theaffair another thought. To tell the truth, his mind was agitated, hisheart was full; hope once more peeped upon the horizon of his being. Amonth ago--for it was quite a month ago now--he had received as sharpand cruel a shock as falls on most men. Fortune, love, and trust had allbeen dashed from the lips which were already so close to the charmed cupthat its very flavor was apparent. The cup had never reached the lipsof Hinton. Fortune was gone, love was gone; worst of all, yes, hardestof all, trust was gone. The ideal he had worshipped was but an ideal. The Charlotte he had loved was unworthy. She had rejected him, andcruelly. His letter was unanswered. He himself was refused admittance. Then his pride had risen in revolt. If she could so treat him, he wouldsue no longer. If she could so easily give him up, he would bow to herdecision. She was not the Charlotte of his love and his dream. But whatmatter! Other men had come to an ideal and found it but a clay idol. Hewould recover: he would not let his heart break. He found, however, thathe could not stay in London. An uncle of his, his only living nearrelation, was a solicitor in the south of England. Hinton went to visithis uncle. He received him warmly and kindly. He not only promised himwork, but kept his word. Hinton took chambers in a fashionable part ofthe town, and already was not idle. But he was a changed man. Thatshattered trust was making his spirit very hard. The cynical part of himwas being fostered. Mrs. Home, when she looked into his face, was quiteright in saying to herself that his expression had not improved. Now, however, again, as he paced up and down, soft thoughts were visitinghim. For what doubts, what blessed doubts had Mrs. Home not insinuated?How irregularly his heart beat; how human he felt once more! Ah! whatsound was that? A cab had drawn up at the door. Hinton flew to thewindow; he saw the soft fawn shade of a lady's dress, he could not seethe lady. Of course, it was Mrs. Home returning. What news did shebring? How he longed to fly to meet her! He did not do so, however; hisfeet felt leaden weighted. He leant against the window, with his back tothe door. His heart beat harder and harder; he clenched his hands hard. There was a quick step running up the stairs, a quick and springingstep. The drawing-room door was opened and then shut. He heard therustle of soft drapery, then a hand was laid on his arm. The touch ofthat hand made him tremble violently. He turned his head, and--notCharlotte Home--but _his_ Charlotte, beautiful and true, stood by hisside. Their eyes met. 

"John!" she said. 

"My own, my darling!" he answered. 

In an instant they were clasped in each other's arms. That swiftglance, which each had given the other, had told all. 

 * * * * *

"John, I never got your letter. "

"No!"

"John, you doubted me. "

"I did, I confess it; I confess it bitterly. But not now, not after oneglance into your eyes. "

"John, what did you say in that letter?"

"That I held you to your sacred promise; that I refused to give you up. "

"But--but--you did not know my true reason. You did not knowwhy--why----"

"Yes, I knew all. Before I wrote that letter I went to Somerset house. Iread your grandfather's will. "

"Ah! did you--did you indeed? Oh! what a dreadful time I have gonethrough. "

"Yes, but it is over now. Mrs. Home told me how your father hadrepented. The sin is forgiven. The agony is past. What God forgets don'tlet us remember. Lottie, cease to think of it. It is at an end, and soare our troubles. I am with you again. Oh! how nearly I had lost you. "

Charlotte's head was on her lover's shoulder. His arm was round her. "Charlotte, I repeat what I said in that letter which never reached you. I refuse to absolve you from your promise. I refuse to give you up. Doyou hear? I refuse to give you up. "

"But, John, I am poor now. "

"Poor or rich, you are yourself, and you are mine. Charlotte, do youhear me? If you hear me answer me. Tell me that you are mine. "

"I am yours, John, " she said simply, and she raised her lips to kisshim. 

CHAPTER LVIII. 

BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM. 

A month after--just one month after, there was a very quiet wedding; awedding performed in the little church at Kentish Town. The ceremony wasthought by the few who witnessed it to be, even for that obscure part, avery poor one. There were no bridesmaids, or white dresses, or, indeed, white favors in any form. The bride wore the plainest gray travellingsuit. She was given away by her gray-headed father; Charlotte Home stoodclose behind her; Mr. Home married the couple, and Uncle Sandy acted asbest man. Surely no tamer ending could come to what was once meant to besuch a brilliant affair. Immediately after the ceremony, the bride andbridegroom went away for two days and Mrs. Home went back to Prince'sGate with Mr. Harman, for she had promised Charlotte to take care of herfather until her return. 

Many changes were contemplated. The grand house in Prince's gate was tobe given up, and the Hintons were to live in that large southern townwhere Hinton was already obtaining a young barrister's greatambition--briefs. Mr. Harman, while he lived, was to find his home withhis son and daughter. 

Mr. Harman was now a peaceful and happy man, and so improved was hishealth--so had the state of his mind affected his body, that though hecould never hope for cure of his malady, yet Sir George Anderson assuredhim that with care he might live for a very much longer time than he hadthought possible a few months before. Thus death stood back, notaltogether thrust aside, but biding its time. 

On the morning of Charlotte's wedding-day there arrived a letter fromJasper. 

"So you have told all?" he said to his brother. "Well, be it so. Fromthe time I knew the other trustee was not dead and had reached England, I felt that discovery was at hand. No, thank you; I shall never comeback to England. If you can bear poverty and public disgrace, I cannot. I have some savings of my own, and on these I can live during myremaining days. Good-bye--we shall never meet again on earth! I repent, do you say, of my share? Yes, the business turned out badly in the end. What a heap of money those Homes will come in for! Stolen goods don'tprosper with a man! So it seems. Well, I shall stay out of England. "

Jasper was true to his word. Not one of those who knew him in this taleever heard of him again. 

Yes, the Homes were now very rich; but both Mr. And Mrs. Home werefaithful stewards of what was lent them from the Lord. Nor did theHintons miss what was taken from them. It is surely enough to say ofCharlotte and her husband that they were very happy. 

But as sin, however repented of, must yet reap its own reward, so inthis instance the great house of Harman Brothers ceased to exist. To paythat unfulfilled trust the business had to be sold. It passed into thehands of strangers, and was continued under another name. No one nowremembers even its existence. 

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HENTY SERIES

An entirely new edition of these famous Books for Boys, by G. A. Henty. This author has reached the hearts of the younger generation by cleverlyamalgamating historical events into interesting stories. Every bookillustrated. 42 titles. Price, 35c. 

 Among Malay Pirates. A Story of Adventure and Peril. Bonnie Prince Charlie. A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. Boy Knight, The. A Tale of the Crusades. Bravest of the Brave, The. With Peterborough in Spain. By England's Aid; or, The Freeing of the Netherlands (1585-1604). By Pike and Dyke. A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. By Right of Conquest; or with Cortez in Mexico. By Sheer Pluck. A Tale of the Ashanti War. Captain Bayley's Heir. A Tale of the Gold Fields of California. Cat of Bubastes, The. A Story of Ancient Egypt. Cornet of Horse, The. A Tale of Marlborough's Wars. Dragon and the Raven: or, The Days of King Alfred. Facing Death. A Tale of the Coal Mines. Final Reckoning, A. A Tale of Bush Life in Australia. For Name and Fame; or, Through Afghan Passes. For the Temple. A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. Friends, Though Divided. A Tale of the Civil War in England. Golden Canon, The. In Freedom's Cause. A Story of Wallace and Bruce. In the Reign of Terror. Adventures of a Westminster Boy. In Times of Peril. A Tale of India. Jack Archer. A Tale of the Crimea. Lion of St. Mark, The. A Story of Venice in the Fourteenth Century. Lion of the North, The. A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus and Wars of Religion. Lost Heir, The. Maori and Settler. A Story of the New Zealand War. One of the 28th. A Tale of Waterloo. Orange and Green. A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick. Out on the Pampas. A Tale of South America. St. George for England. A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. Sturdy and Strong; or, How George Andrews Made His Way. Through the Fray. A Story of the Luddite Riots. True to the Old Flag. A Tale of the American War of Independence. Under Drake's Flag. A Tale of the Spanish Main. With Clive in India; or, The Beginnings of an Empire. With Lee in Virginia. A Story of the American Civil War. With Wolfe in Canada; or, The Winning of a Continent. Young Buglers, The. A Tale of the Peninsular War. Young Carthaginian, The. A Story of the Times of Hannibal. Young Colonists, The. A Story of Life and War in South Africa. Young Franc-Tireurs, The. A Tale of the Franco-Prussian War. Young Midshipman, The. A Tale of the Siege of Alexandria. 

ANY OF THESE BOOKS WILL BE MAILED UPONRECEIPT OF 35c. , OR THREE COPIES FOR $1. 00

Be sure you have one of our complete catalogues;sent anywhere when requested. 

HURST & CO. Publishers NEW YORK

Mirthful Books Worth Reading!

PECK'S BOOKS OF HUMOR

No author has achieved a greater national reputation for books ofgenuine humor and mirth than GEORGE W. PECK, author of "Peck's Bad Boyand His Pa. "

We are fortunate to be able to offer, within everyone's reach, three ofhis latest books. The titles are:

 Peck's Uncle Ike, Peck's Sunbeams, Peck's Red-Headed Boy. 

CLOTH Binding, 60c. , Postpaid. 

PAPER Binding, 30c. , Postpaid. 

By failing to procure any one of these books you lose an opportunity to"laugh and grow fat. " When you get one you will order the others. 

Send for our Illustrated Catalogue of Books. 

HURST & CO. , Publishers, 395-399 Broadway, New York. 

HELEN'S BABIES

By John Habberton

Interesting! Entertaining! Amusing!

A book with a famous reputation. It is safe to say that no book, illustrating the doings of children, has ever been published that hasreached the popularity enjoyed by "HELEN'S BABIES. " Brilliantly written, Habberton records in this volume some of the cutest, wittiest and mostamusing of childish sayings, whims and pranks, all at the expense of abachelor uncle. The book is elaborately illustrated, which greatlyassists the reader in appreciating page by page, Habberton'smasterpiece. 

Published as follows:

Popular Price Edition, Cloth, 60c. , Postpaid. Quarto Edition, with Six Colored Plates, Cloth, $1. 25, Postpaid. 

We guarantee that you will not suffer from "the blues" after readingthis book. 

_Ask for our complete catalogue. Mailed upon request. _

HURST & CO. , Publishers, 395-399 Broadway, New York. 

Elegant Gift Books

HURST'S PRESENTATION SERIES

A Distinctive Cover Design on Each Book

A beautiful series of Young People's Books to suit the tastes of themost fastidious. The publishers consider themselves fortunate in beingable to offer such a marvelous line of choice subjects, made up intoattractive presentation volumes. Large type, fine heavy paper, numerouspictures in black, inserted with six lithographic reproductions in tencolors by eminent artists, bound in extra English cloth, with three inkand gold effects. 

Price, postpaid, $1. 00 per volume. 

 Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass. Anderson's Fairy Tales. Arabian Nights. Black Beauty. Child's History of England. Grimm's Fairy Tales. Gulliver's Travels. Helen's Babies. Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare. Mother Goose, Complete. Palmer Cox's Fairy Book. Peck's Uncle Ike and the Red-Headed Boy. Pilgrim's Progress. Robinson Crusoe. Swiss Family Robinson. Tales from Scott for Young People. Tom Brown's School Days. Uncle Tom's Cabin. 

Books sure to be a delight to every boy and girl who becomes the proudpossessor of any or all of them. 

Write for our Complete Catalogue. 

HURST & CO. , Publishers, 395-399 Broadway, New York.