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Rh "I don't see that, for I am sure you have not betrayed yourself."

"Well, no; as for myself, I believe I have done the lying and the hypocrisy pretty well. But, dearest Fanny, you don't know half; and you can not and must not know."

"But I thought you said there had been nothing whatever between you."

"Did I? Well, to you I have not said a word that was not true. I said that he had spoken nothing that it was wrong for him to say. It could not be wrong—But never mind. I'll tell you what I mean to do. I have been thinking of it for the last week—only I shall have to tell Mark."

"If I were you, I would tell him all."

"What, Mark! If you do, Fanny, I'll never, never, never speak to you again. Would you, when I have given you all my heart in true sisterly love?"

Mrs. Robarts had to explain that she had not proposed to tell any thing to Mark herself, and was persuaded, moreover, to give a solemn promise that she would not tell any thing to him unless specially authorized to do so.

"I'll go into a home, I think," continued Lucy. "You know what those homes are?" Mrs. Robarts assured her that she knew very well, and then Lucy went on: "A year ago I should have said that I was the last girl in England to think of such a life, but I do believe now that it would be the best thing for me. And then I'll starve myself, and flog myself, and in that way I'll get back my own mind and my own soul."

"Your own soul, Lucy!" said Mrs. Robarts, in a tone of horror.

"Well, my own heart, if you like it better; but I hate to hear myself talking about hearts. I don't care for my heart. I'd let it go—with this young popinjay lord or any one else, so that I could read, and talk, and walk, and sleep, and eat, without always feeling that I was wrong here—here— here," and she pressed her hand vehemently against her side. "What is it that I feel, Fanny? Why am I so weak in body that I can not take exercise? Why can not I keep my mind on a book for one moment? Why can I not write two sentences together? Why should every mouthful that I eat stick in my throat? Oh, Fanny, is it his legs, think you, or is it his title?"

Through all her sorrow—and she was very