especially as your reporters, I am told, make very free with the private affairs of those who happen to be in such very unfortunate circumstances as now surround my poor boy."

"Quite right, dear child. A most sensible precaution. We'll use the Worthington, by all means, but if I can, I will shield you from the reporters. Now forget yourself and your sorrows and look at that view. We 'll be at the house in a moment."

It was certainly worth more than a passing glance, that wonderful vista of silver river and purple hills seen through the trees. The carriage had been climbing steadily since they left the village. Now they swept through the drive gates and were surrounded by the beautifully kept grounds of the McDonald estate. Green lawns, masses of brilliant flowers, wonderful overshadowing trees made one forget the proximity of the little town with its ugly buildings and narrow streets.

When Muriel reached the house at last, she looked on one of the most beautiful and restful scenes that she had ever beheld, enhanced immeasurably by the broad silver expanse of water that flowed on swiftly and noiselessly seaward. A few minutes later she sat on a broad piazza

before a perfectly equipped tea-table. White clematis and green vines shaded the house. A little breeze made the air refreshing and fragrant as it came to them over the flower beds, while the call of robins and the cooing of doves lent a sweetness of sound to match the comfort of her surroundings.

Mrs. McDonald had made Muriel remove her hat, had admired the wealth of auburn hair, all the while laughing and chatting as if this was some girl friend of hers come for an expected visit, and Muriel had listened, thankful for the tact that saved her the pain of thought or speech. Now a pause had come and she instinctively looked at her watch. How the time had flown! She must go, but oh! before she went, could she open her heart? What an unspeakable relief it would be!

"Dear child," said her hostess, leaning forward, "I am going to make a suggestion. You want to talk to me and yet you dread to do so. Do not make the effort now. Rest first. I want you to spend the night here, if you will. You have not your baggage? Oh, never mind that! I will lend you all you need. I can't put you into one of my dinner gowns for the evening, for alas! you outstrip me in inches as I outweigh you in

pounds, but that smart little tailor-made dress is all right, so you need not feel uncomfortable, and only my husband and sons will be here for dinner, anyway. Now I am going to take you up to your room and I 'll get you a soft wrap so that you can lie down and rest for a good two hours, and to-night we can talk out on the piazza in the dusk. It will be easier, and if I can help you, with all my heart I 'll do it, that you can rely on."

No murmured protests were heeded and presently Muriel, to her own bewilderment, found herself in a lovely room overlooking a rose garden, all rose and white in its pretty decorations. Then a joyous surprise awaited her, for, from a silver frame on the mantel, looked forth the steady gaze and strong features of her fellow-passenger, Gerald Strowbridge. She cried out and ran to clasp the picture in her hands. It was so good to feel a friend's presence, even were it but a pictured face.

"What! you know Gerald?" cried her hostess. "Why did you not tell me that before, child? He is one of my closest friends-a splendid fellow, at the head and front of his profession, with a will of iron and a heart of gold, and tender as a woman when he chooses."

In a few words Muriel explained the steamer

friendship and what it had meant to her in her loneliness, while her new friend was busily engaged bringing a soft silk wrap and slippers and other little things for her guest's comfort. Left to herself, she laid aside her dress and put on the wrapper, let down her long tresses, bathed her face, darkened the room, and then, all at once, came the overwhelming reaction. Oh, God! the horror and bitterness of it all! Here she was in comfort and luxury, alive, well, and beautiful, inhaling the fragrance of roses, treated as an honoured guest by a woman of wealth and distinction, and there, not two miles away, was Jack, her handsome, manly, clean-hearted lover, shut in a prison cell, watched day and night, branded a murderer, and already in the shadow of a shameful death! One minute she stood gripped in the anguish of the realisation, and then she threw herself on the bed, and her unnatural calm and stupor were gone before the relentless storm of tears.

Perhaps in the violence of her grief she did not realise that she had been gathered into tender arms and was pillowing her head on a motherly breast, but by-and-bye, when exhaustion had lessened the storm, she was gently tucked under the quilt and merciful sleep came at last to shut out the world of realisation and suffering.

CHAPTER X

THE

THE MISTRESS OF RIVERSIDE

mistress of Riverside made a lovely,

regal picture as she came down the broad oak staircase that evening, when the sound of wheels told of her husband's approach. She had been a pleasing, striking figure in the plain, tailor-made gown and little toque that she wore at the prison, but she was radiant now in a dress of soft, white, shimmering material, draped with filmy lace, and with a bunch of white Killarney roses at her belt. Her hair, piled high on her queenly head, was so luxuriant that, had the pins suddenly dropped out, it would have fallen down far beneath her knees, and though it was just powdered with grey, the youthful sparkle of her eyes made it hard to believe that she had three married sons and that a third generation was already calling her "Grannie" in loving baby accents. With the background of dark stairs and banked-up palms, with the soft light from the