hour older," said he, as he put on his hat and gave the crown a slap. "And Mr Flip," he added to the beadle, who was in the inner parlour having a brown-paper plaster applied to the temple injured by Molly's broom, "you will have the goodness to come with me and wait outside my niece's door, that you may be ready to convoy this hussy safe beyond the second milestone."

CHAPTER VIII.

MR FLIP IS DISAPPOINTED OF HIS WALK TO

THE SECOND MILESTONE.

MARGARET sat in Elizabeth Vandereck's trim little kitchen, her father's letter in her hand, her limbs too weak and trembling to rise, her ears straining in spite of her to catch every word spoken on the other side of the thin partition.

Mr Transom had been with his niece for the last half hour, while the beadle walked up and down outside.

The first words Margaret heard were Elizabeth's.

"That is what I gathered, uncle," said she, "from the poor soul's ravings before she told me her story."

"And

you

believed that story, 'Lizbeth, until

you heard mine?" inquired Mr Transom,

"I did."

"Poor 'Lizbeth! She must be even blacker

than she's painted to try to impose on such as you."

"Poor soul!" said Elizabeth. "To hear her

6

cry out, Before God, I am as good as you!' one

could have sworn she told the truth. Ah laws! this world!"

"The lying jade!"

And yet they say when one raves like that, half mad, one's real nature comes out in spite of one," observed Elizabeth.

66

"Oh! but the cunning hussy put all that on to come over you," asserted Mr Transom, contemptuously.

"That might have been, 'tis true," the widow said; "and yet her face looked so piteous, so true who could doubt her?"

66

"My poor 'Lizbeth, this world is full of falsehood."

66

Come, child, Mr Flip is waiting; besides, it's market-day, you know, and I mustn't stay any longer. Have the young woman down, tell her your mind, and send her packing."

"Poor, poor wretched creature, where will she go?"

"Beyond the second milestone with Mr Flip." Mr Transom spoke as if he wondered how his niece could possibly desire a better destination for the young woman.

"Elizabeth Vandereck."

Mr Transom started at the sound of the voice, and when he looked at the direction whence it came, could scarcely keep himself from starting again at the sight of the prettiest face he had met for many a day-delicate as a flower, its cheek hectic, eyes flashing, lips trembling with passion.

Elizabeth dropped her work, folded her hands on her knee, and looked up at the intruder with serious absorbed eyes.

"Elizabeth Vandereck," began the new-comer, "you are a good woman. You have God's light in your mind. When you took me with His help from under the Shadow of Death, you knew me as a sister-one whom it was well for you to meet. When we were alone in the night, weeping over His words that you read to me in my hours of pain, did you believe my tears and my prayers less sincere than your own? Do you dare, Elizabeth, with God's love in your bosom, and God's light in your mind-do you dare to look into my face now, because the world points at me, and say, 'Margaret Dawson, you were a hypocrite? When you expressed such holy hope of being gathered to His rest if you died then, you knew yourself to be accursed in His eyes.' Elizabeth Vandereck, do you dare say this?"

Mr Transom's astonished eyes passed from Margaret's face to that of his niece.

He rather wondered, knowing the softness of her heart, to see that face so calm. He expected