should have fallen in with and spoken to this person; however, that cannot now be undone, and I can only strongly advise you to say nothing about the affair to Duncan, for if you do, there'll be a row, I suspect.'

But I have no secrets from Duncan,' said Mary quietly, but with a pleasant confidence ; for the said Duncan was her affianced husband, and the man who, after a betrothal of many a year, she had left her home in England to make happy at last. Mary's girlhood had passed away, and a few silver lines might be traced on her braided hair, while on that middle-aged soldier's brow, time and care and foreign service had drawn many a deepening furrow; but for all this their hearts were full of hope, and the Indian summer of their souls was bright with glowing colours.

'Well, do as you like,' said Mary's brother, beginning to tire of the subject; 'you know your own affairs best; only pray let me hear

no more of Mrs. Vaughan from you, for really you ought to know better than to talk of that class of women.'

A day or two elapsed before Mary Owen found an opportunity of consulting Major Duncan as to the expediency of her again visiting the place where she might possibly come in contact with the tabooed woman; and great was her delight when, instead of combating her wishes, he, in spite of the General's lingering remonstrances, pronounced all she did and said to be wise, discreet, and praiseworthy.

Meanwhile Helen had not ceased from her errands of mercy, and might have been daily found in the lowly dwelling where that singular and most incongruous fellowship had first commenced. She had given money and been thanked for it, and had bestowed advice and sympathy, which had been tolerated; moreover, as the widow had, by dint of strenuous exertions, been kept for several days from any indulgence in her besetting

sin, Helen rejoiced greatly in the reformation she had worked.

A few days after the serjeant's death, Mrs. Vaughan and Mary Owen met again, and this time on the threshold of the room whose inmates they were come to visit. Their greeting was cordial, nay, almost affectionate, and Helen, ere they entered, imparted to the General's sister her satisfaction in the belief that reformation had commenced, and that gratitude for all that had been done for her, was strong and deep in the breast of the bereaved woman.

The room was still and desolate enough now, for there was no dead husband on the soldier's bed; and the children, sickly and subdued, were crouching about, watching the almost dreaded mother, who was mending their poor clothes and pondering on her own unhappy future. She rose at the approach of the ladies, and dropped a curtsy in honour of the General's sister; but to Helen she showed no token of respect. Mary looked

from one to the other in surprise, waiting in vain for the symptoms of gratitude on which Mrs. Vaughan had enlarged, and almost doubting (so great was the change wrought in the woman's manner) whether it were indeed the serjeant's widow who stood before them. Helen remained passive, though the blood had mounted to her. cheek and brow; and it was by Mary that the embarrassing silence was at length broken.

'Well, Mrs. Jones,' began the sweet musical voice that Helen loved to hear, I am very glad to see you better. Mrs. Vaughan has given me an excellent account

of

you, and I hope all will now go well with you and with your children.'

Indeed, ma'am,' responded the widow in doleful accents, 'I'm very poorly, very poorly. She may tell you as I'm better, but what does the likes of her know what it is to lose a good husband? And a good husband he was to me, though I says it; and he to be taken from me all on a sudden like-' and the

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ready apron was lifted to her eyes. They do say he'll be hanged, the man as did it, milady, which I'll go to see, God willing;' and wiping her eyes she cast them up to heaven, as though grateful for the grace that had been given her, and to the inspiration by which she had been led to utter a sentiment so pious.

Helen was shocked at her tone, and ventured upon a remonstrance. Mrs. Jones,' she said, firmly, we know how sorely you have been tried, and can scarcely wonder that you find it difficult to forgive; but will you not try to remember that the man who has done you this great wrong is in the hands of God, to punish or to pardon? and that there is one excuse which might (at least with you) be brought forward in his favour,—namely, that the wretched man had been drinking to excess, and could scarcely be deemed accountable for the act of which he now (as I am told) sincerely repents."

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