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Rh particularly grieved either; adding aside to the young clergyman—

"What about your faith, Brown—that was to pull you through?"

The latter did not respond.

"You'll join our party to the theatre to-night?" continued Tom. "'The way the world goes round' is a grand take-off, they say, of fashionable society of to-day. Very clever, I believe. Mrs. Courtenay is taking us all."

That lady looked guilty. Maud remarked—

"I am sorry I cannot go, Mr. Lord, thank you."

"No more shall I," said Hilda, with the air of a martyr.

"But you will not give up the theatre because that set of derelicts has to return to town?" said Lord. "Where's your faith?"—to Brown.

The doctor seemed to be in no mood for pleasantries. A heavy weight lay on his heart—a dark path stretched before him. Maud was looking out of the window, far away into the future—wondering whether filling the minds or the mouths of children were preferable. Hilda was pulling a rose viciously to pieces as it lay on her lap. Brown talked eagerly to Elms, upon whose face a dark, ominous shadow lay. Mrs. Courtenay was reading and re-reading her invitation—wondering what life would be worth without the excitement of balls to be prepared for, and daughters to be danced out.

A knock was heard at the door. The maid delivered a telegram to the doctor, who seized it as a welcome diversion from troubled thought. All eyes turned towards him as he tore open the envelope.

A telegram is a talisman. It turns darkness to light, converts rejoicing into mourning, casts a lightning flash upon distant worlds, revealing achievement won or