remembered to order him to send in a little more wine!"

"More wine? Oh! I forgot!" said Linda, only half awake. "I am glad I have not got it to do," she added, "for I still feel ashamed of my visit to Mr. Jones's."

"Nonsense, Linda," said her mother; "it is only your over-sensitiveness: he is not a man to think of a thing like that a second time."

"I hope he is not," said Linda; "but, mother, if I were to have a house of my own to-morrow, I would never deal with Mr. Jones. He seems equal to underhand ways, and-I do not think I should feel it right to encourage such a man: it might make me think less of what was not utterly real and good and true, to say nothing of anything else!"

Mrs. Brown did not quite catch all that Linda said. She had left the library to unload her heavy pockets in her own room. Unlocking her wardrobe, Mrs. Brown first took out a bottle of champagne, and next a bottle of brandy, from the pocket of her top skirt (these were well wrapped in paper, and their necks had been safely hidden

under the polonaise skirt). After taking them out, Mrs. Brown lifted up her dress, and literally unpacked a pillow-case full of parcels, the top of the pillow-case having been very securely pinned to the band of her under-skirt. There must have been eight or ten bottles; but each one was so carefully done up in paper that the risk of breakage had been slight. The weight must have been somewhat uncomfortable; but judging from her excited state of delight, Mrs. Brown had not felt it unduly.

She did not go down again that evening, and was fast asleep when Linda came to bed.

But that Linda continued to sleep with her mother, she saw very little of her for the next few days. The weather was most perfect, and she spent much of her time in painting, having,

for an amateur, a very great gift.

She was anxious

to complete and get framed, as a present for her father, a most lovely view from a hill within ten minutes' walk of the rectory, where, from a certain point, the eye could glance upon five different counties. This point-a rustic gate-Linda had brought into her picture, Daisy and Miss Hum

phreys being represented as leaning upon it in mute admiration of the scene beneath. Linda, as the painting reached completion, became more and more absorbed in it. Daisy often ran down to her to see how she was getting on; but she herself was very busy helping Miss Humphreys in dusting books and cleaning pictures, it being the May cleaning. The faithful Margaret, too, was "as busy as a bee" on this account.

Hence it happened-as these things will happen, and in a way that all the wishing in the world will not afterwards make unhappen-Mrs. Brown was left more to herself than she had ever been in the past six years.

Dovedale Rectory stood almost within the shadow of Dovedale Church. In past years it had been no unusual thing for the house to be locked up in the evening during service-time, each member of the household coming to church. But this had not been of late; Mrs. Brown was always at home in the evening, and some one remained with her.

It was Sunday, and Linda's turn to stop in. The day had been very balmy, and the evening

was most brilliant; the wind having changed to the east, gave a clearness to the atmosphere, and the distant view from the rectory garden was looking most perfect. Linda had left her mother lying upon her bed. She had pleaded not feeling well, and Linda had thought she seemed giddy and faint when she attempted to move, although she appeared to be in excellent spirits. Mrs. Brown had spent the whole day in her room, pleading that no one, not even Daisy or Miss Humphreys, should disturb her. Margaret had brought her dinner up, but the door was locked, and Mrs. Brown had called to her to put the tray down. Hence no one had really seen her since early morning, with the exception of Linda.

Linda, thinking her mother was likely to sleep, and knowing in her own bilious attacks what she liked best was to be left alone,-Linda sauntered round the garden, plucking the roses as she went. The church bells had long ago ceased ringing, and now through the open windows came the first hymn, sung by choir and congregation with an earnestness and sweetness which gave to the

chorus the deep utterance of a grand, whole

hearted prayer

"Through life's long day and death's dark night,

O! Gentle Jesus, be our light."

Tears gathered in Linda's eyes as she listened. "If only I could be like Daisy!" she said to herself, as the singing at length stopped. "It is the real thing with her. She does not parade it, but she never hides it, and she is always so calm and patient. From the very day she first came to us she has been so sweet and so kind; and when anything has gone wrong for the moment, she has always been the first to plead to be forgiven."

Then Linda began to think how best she could tell Daisy about her visit to Mr. Jones. She more and more hated herself for doing anything which would be likely to grieve her father. He, of course, had his reasons for preferring that no wine should be drunk at the rectory, and, in his absence, she had set his wishes at defiance! Oh, it was mean, despicable, utterly black in its hideous untruthfulness!

Linda clenched her hands and wept. A most