hearts of those who heard it, for against one who lay there dead the blow seemed levelled. Poor long-worked humble soldier! No need to sympathize with your trials now, for life's hard hits fall short of you at last, and you are at peace! Yes; his wife's disgrace is misery no longer, and her drunken habits can anger him no more, while the children who were his solace are hers only now,-hers to beat and swear at, when the drop too much is taken; hers to rear in habits as vicious as her own! Poor little wretched beings! Who on the wide earth is left to defend them, who to guide and who to save them from pollution?

It was with words such as these in their hearts and on their lips, that Helen and her new acquaintance left that dismal barrackroom together, each now knowing who had been her fellow-worker, and her sister in charity and Christian love. To Mary Owen Helen stood revealed as the lovely sinning woman of whom she had heard, but whose face (she having recently arrived in India) she

had never seen, and on whom the carefully nurtured girl now gazed shyly and curiously, as good women are wont to do on those whose lives they cannot understand. But what were Helen's feelings when she learnt that it was the General's sister, the 'Mary Owen' whose 'people' lived near Thornleigh's home in distant England, with whom she had held converse as with a friend? Strange, indeed, it was, but true, that she, of whom Philip (so little given to respect what was good or reverence what was holy) had sometimes spoken as of one but 'little lower than the angels,' should have thus come in contact with her, the erring and proscribed. And it was, therefore, with deep humility and an overpowering sense of her own unworthiness, that Helen felt her heart throb with gratitude to the gentle being, who, though herself 'pure as snow' and 'chaste as ice,' could yet be full of pity for the fallen; and who (and may God bless her for the deed!) had given her hand to Helen as though she had been a sister.

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CHAPTER V.

'I am a woman

More sinned against than sinning.'

'The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices

Make instruments to scourge us.'-King Lear.

HARVEY, I made a new acquaintance yesterday; one that I found in poor Serjeant Jones's room-and who do you think it was?'

The question was asked by Mary Owen of her brother, the General, as they two were riding out together in the cool evening air.

Upon my life I can't guess, but some missionary fellow I should imagine. It is a great mistake, Mary, you going to such places, and I wish you would give it up. Caroline' (he was speaking of his wife now),

'is very nearly as absurd, only just now she has something else to do.'

"Yes, Caroline would have felt so sorry for the babies; and two of them were such little things; I wish you could have seen them, Harvey.'

'I'm uncommon glad I didn't,' growled the General.

'Well, but Harvey dear, I haven't told you the news yet,' and she glanced at him furtively, as though half fearing the effect her frankness might produce. It was such a beautiful woman that I saw there; and you cannot think how good she seemed, and how tender; I could love her with all my heart.'

'I have no doubt you could,' responded the General, 'you are always in extremes, always loving something or somebody; but pray who is your new friend?'

Now, Harvey, please not to be angry: I am half afraid you will be when you hear that it was Mrs. Vaughan who-'

'Mrs. Vaughan!' broke in the General, suddenly checking his horse in the extremity of his surprise and indignation. 'Mrs. Vaughan! Impossible; you must be mistaken; she never could have dared-'

'Dared what, dear Harvey?' she asked, interrupting him gently; she only dared to perform a duty from which many a woman would have shrunk back in disgust and dismay. She closed that poor man's eyes, brother, when he was no more, and (harder trial still) defended the unhappy children from the blows of their violent, drunken mother, awing and controlling her. Oh, indeed, she was brave and good, andI can never cease to admire and respect her:' but the last words were spoken to her own heart whisperingly.

The General was somewhat moved, stern man as he was, and rigorously as he maintained his watch over his woman kind.

'I am very sorry, Mary,' he said in a

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kinder tone; very sorry indeed that you