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��would need being placed close at hand, she at length bade her goodbye, and hastened away. After her daughter's departure, Mrs: Benson sat for a long time before the fire. Anon it began to grow light, and then she amused her- self by watching the flakes of snow as they fell faster and faster upon the window ledge. The days were very long to the poor woman, especially those which found her unable to busy herself with some light needle work with which she essayed to earn a little money, much against Margie's wishes. Her thoughts this morning had some- how gone back into the past — a past that seemed like heaven when com- pared to the misery of the present. Could it be that she was the daughter of wealthy parents, carefully guarded from every want, idolized as only daugh- ters often are ? Ah, well ! that was ended. She had chosen her own lot in life and the consequences, let them be what they would, must be borne. She knew that all trouble would soon end for her, but the thought of the dear ones she must leave behind, especially Margie, filled her already aching heart with keenest anguish. Suddenly there came a knock upon the outer door, and in answer to her low " come in," the door was thrown open, and a gentle- man, well wrapped up in a heavy coat and muffler, his fur cap drawn down over his face, entered the room.

Throwing off his wet outer garments, and tossing them into one corner of the room, he turned toward Mrs. Benson, who sat watching him in surprise. " Don't you know me, Margaret?" The rich mellow tones of the gentleman's voice fell upon Mrs. Benson's ear like strains of half forgotten music, while one glance into the dark brown eyes, which looked sadly into her own, and were so strangely like her own, told her that her only brother stood before her. With a low cry of intense joy she half rose to her feet, sinking back again and holding out both hands, while the single word, "brother!" fell from her pale lips. "My sister, my poor, wronged sister !" said the gentle- man, as he clasped the fragile form

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��close to his bosom, and mingled his tears with her own. "William, brother ! Oh ! it must be a dream, cannot be true that we meet again, meet when I most need your strong arm to lean upon," she murmured, drawing away from him and gazing eagerly into the handsome face of the gentleman, who was regarding her with joy and sorrow both depicted on his noble countenance. "Thank God ! I have found you at last," said he, reverently. "We will never part again until death parts us. Poor sister, that I should find you thus. What a change, Margaret ! I can hard- ly believe my own eyes," and burying his face in his hands, he.groaned aloud. Then he started up and glanced around the miserable room, strode to the little bedroom where the wretched pallet, which served as a bed for his poor sister, met his eye ; then he burst forth angrily, fiercely. "And so this is what that rascal of a Tom Benson has brought you to. He was never half good enough for you in his best days. Alas ! poor, stern, unyielding father was right, when he said you had better been laid away in your grave than to have become the wife of such a man. It proved to be the hovel instead of the palace, Margaret." Over the pale, thin face of the invalid the blood rushed in a crimson wave, and receding, left her paler than before, while her thoughts flew back to a scene far different from this. The large, magnificent drawing- room and all the insignia of wealth sur-

��rounding them

��herself and this self- same brother, standing side by side — and in answer to die words, " Margaret, he is not good enough for you, even if he were your equal in other respects, what will you do, reared as you have been, as the wife of a man compara- tively poor?" She had made answer: " I love him, William, and could be happier with him in a hovel than with any one else in a palace." Young and impulsive, she believed for the time being that she spoke the truth ; expe- rience, however, had taught her a bit- ter lesson. Experience is a hard teach- er, but a most thorough one. I woa-

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