grateful to him for his goodness in receiving you as one of his children, and I hope that you will treat him with the deference and respect which you have always shown to me. I am rather pressed for time now; but tell him I will answer his very kind note by the next mail. "And now may the blessing of heaven descend upon you, my darling child, and preserve you from every evil, and may God guide you in all your actions! "With very best love, I am, my precious darling, your devoted father, "STUART MACDONALD." No sooner had Frances finished her letter than she burst into a passionate flood of tears. “My noble father," she exclaimed, "O that I were with you now! O that I had never left you! Deceitful Frances, you are not worthy of such a father! But he must never know what I have done; it would grieve him so bitterly. He would despise me, and O, his contempt would kill me." She shuddered, and covered her face with her hands. She knew that the only way to reëstablish herself in her own good opinion and to render herself worthy of the self-denying affection of her father was to go in and acknowledge the truth. But she could not do it; her weakness was growing upon her, and she felt that it was now impossible ever to make the disclosure. "It shall remain a secret buried in my own heart; and above all things, my father must never hear a word of it." As she soliloquised thus, she fell into a profound reverie, and from time to time heavy sobs escaped her. She had been there a considerable time, when she was startled by hearing a splash of oars. She snatched up her letter, which had fallen on the grass, and screened herself behind a bush of pink hawthorn. In another instant she saw a boat gliding by, and seated in it was Wilfred, who with his characteristic laziness had abandoned the oars, and with his arms crossed, allowed the boat to find its own way; looking remarkably like a Turkish Pasha as he sat in his shirt-sleeves, with the long tassel of his scarlet cap hanging over his shoulder. "Here!" he suddenly cried, and Frances's heart leaped as she thought he perceived her; "go fetch it, Nero," at the same time throwing his cane into the water. She watched it as it floated quite close to her hiding-place. The noble dog plunged into the stream and swam after it; she trembled lest he should find her out; but he seized the stick in his mouth, and returned to his master without seeing her. Wilfred passed on, and she came to the water's edge to bathe her eyes before she returned to the house, as they were inflamed with weeping. CHAPTER XIII. THE STORM HAS BURST. "Is all the counsel that we two have shared, Midsummer-Night's Dream. "O, what makes woman lovely? Virtue, faith, BRENT. WHILE Frances was thus suffering from the effects of her own folly, Agnes was sitting under the shade of a large apple-tree at the back of the cottage. She inhaled the rich perfume of the blossoms with which it was covered; the humming of the bees, busy at their daily toil, sounded pleasantly in her ears; and she felt happier than she had yet done since her mother's death. Rose was leaning against her knee, listening attentively to something Agnes was telling her. After some time, the little girl threw her arms round her sister's neck, and passionately exclaimed, "O Agnes, you must not leave me there by myself; I cannot go without you." 66 "But, my dear child," said Agnes gently, "I am quite as sorry to part with you as you are to leave me; but I must stay and try to get some money; for now that mamma is dead, we have not so much as we had." "Why not? Mamma did not take it with her." No, dear; but while she was alive, she had what is called an annuity, which means a certain sum of money every year until she died. That being gone, we have very little left, and it will take nearly all of it to pay the nuns for your education." "But I tell you I do not want to be educated at a convent. I want to stay with you, and you can teach me, as you always have done." "I shall not have time, dear; I have something else to do. Besides which, the nuns will teach you much better than I could, and will fit you to take a governess's place; for we must always expect to be very poor, and to have to provide for ourselves; and if you grew up an ignorant girl you could not do that.” "But what is it that will make you so busy?" "The very thing that I am going to have you taught to do, and which I could not now undertake if papa had not sent me to a good school. Some kind ladies in the neighbourhood have promised that I shall go every day to teach their little children, and one of them, Mrs. Mountfort, has agreed that I shall live at her house; and this, together with a few music-lessons which I may still be able to give, will be enough for me, and I can save something out of it besides." "Who will live in our little cottage, then? and where shall I go for the holidays?" "Somebody else will come and live here, I do not know who; and for a time, Rose, you will have to spend your holidays at the convent, and I will come to see you as often as I can." Poor Rose looked very blank on hearing this; but she knew that Agnes was doing all for the best, and therefore felt obliged to submit to this arrangement, which was so very distasteful to her feelings. "Well, you will let me stay till Father Hudson comes back, that I may say good-bye to him?” "No, my dear, I am afraid I cannot let you stay till then, as I heard this morning from the housekeeper that he is no better yet, and that the Bishop will not permit him to return until his health is reëstablished. But run, Rose, and open the gate for Miss Percival; I see her, through the hedge, coming down the lane.” She rose up to greet her friend, and inviting her to sit down she told her her plans for the future, in which she knew that Edith would be interested. The latter, however, appeared preoccupied during the account; and at its conclusion she said, "I hope your arrangements will prove satisfactory. I think it is the best you can do under the circumstances; but" Here she paused and looked at Rose. Agnes, thinking that Edith might |