upon one side; upon the other the rough, neglected land stretched away to the horizon. Somewhere among the valleys hidden in the distance, villages might nestle, but they were not visible from this point, as again they hastened towards a bend in the road, only to find themselves upon the brow of a low hill with the same unchanging landscape before them.

Katey sat down upon a low, flat rock by the side of the way. She was faint and dizzy. They had eaten their scanty breakfast almost at day-break, and had been hours on the road. She rested her arms upon the rock and dropped her head as everything whirled around her.

"Do not be discouraged," said the Professor, with the patient cheerfulness which went to her heart. "We will rest at the foot of the hill under a clump of trees I see there, build a fire, and as a brook has straggled out of the woods most opportunely, you shall be served with coffee as you sit in the door of your tent. Come!' and thus encouraged, Katey made one more effort.

She lay down under the trees, when they were gained, her shawl rolled into a pillow, while the Professor gathered a little heap of sticks and dried leaves and essayed to light a fire. He uttered a quickly repressed exclamation. She opened her eyes. The match in his hand had gone out.

"But you have more?"

"I am afraid not ;" and he made a fruitless search.

She burst into tears. It was silly and childish, and she was ashamed of her weakness, but this was the last straw.

Don't," he said gently. "Pray, don't. We shall certainly come to a house soon; this cannot last much longer. If I could only do something!" he broke out in sudden despair.

"I am sorry, I am ashamed," sobbed Katey. "You, too, must be tired and faint, and discouraged."

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"Not discouraged," he said quickly; nor very tired. I am stronger than you, you know. It is annoying, that is all. There, that is a brave girl," as the sobs became less violent. "Now, try to sleep awhile "

But Katey sat suddenly upright, instead. "I had forgotten this," she said, dragging at her watch-chain. "Will not this light a fire?" and she held out a tiny globe of colorless rock-crystal.

"We will try it, at least," he replied. He

set himself to gathering the driest grasses, the most inflammable material within his reach, adding scraps from an old letter and placing them all upon a stone already heated by the sun. After repeated attempts, the little bauble thus turned unexpectedly to use, was coaxed to act the part of a burning-glass; a faint breath of smoke hovered over the pile, thickening, bursting into a feeble flame. They had succeeded.

Ah! no nectar of the gods ever equaled the draughts from the tin cup, a little later; no rest was ever to Katey like the short hour in which she lay curled up in the shadow of the long, thick branches of the laurels, the rough open fields about her.

They went on with new strength and courage, less impatient than before. But what we desire and seek after in hot haste, comes presently when we least expect it; we turn aside for a little time weary of the search, and lo! we stumble upon it. A break in the woods, and suddenly, almost in their faces, rose a little old farm-house, peaceful, quiet, homely, and not in the least disturbed by the encounter, which is more than can be said of one of its inmates,-a frowzy Scotch terrier who rushed out to meet them, uttering shrill yelping cries which brought the mistress of the house to the door.

"Our troubles are over;" said Katey. It was the Professor who lagged now.

"They have but just begun;" he replied, in a low tone which did not reach her ear. "Wait here a moment," he said aloud, and went on to the door alone.

"My good woman," he began, raising his hat to the tall, raw-boned specimen of womanhood, who had yet a kindly face; could you give us some dinner and by any means send us on to the next town?"

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Surprise and curiosity at sight of the two who had apparently dropped from the skies, since there were no signs of ordinary human conveyance, changed to suspicion in the woman's countenance.

"I don' no," she replied slowly. "You shall be well paid for the trouble." ""Tain't the money." At this moment Katey approached. She gave her a sharp, keen glance. "Well, you can come in, I reckon; an' I'll find ye something to eat," she said at last, leading the way into a low kitchen, bare enough, but neat in its appointments, where a couple of tow-headed children playing upon the floor immediately hid themselves under the table.

"Perhaps you could give this lady a

He rose and began to pace the room. Katey had made no reply. She had expressed neither surprise nor assent. She sat trembling and shivering in the corner of the old sofa.

"It will be better," he said, presently, drawing a chair and sitting down before her," to understand the whole matter. Indeed, I must talk this over plainly with you. I had the misfortune, if it be one, to incur Miss Wormley's resentment a few weeks ago. She uttered some threats of revenge then, of which I thought nothing at the time. I am inclined to believe now that she has bided her time and taken this opportunity to wreak her vengeance. I could laugh at it, but for you. You can think, perhaps, what she may do for us in La Fayette," he added. "She could not have chosen a better time, and every hour of absence has weakened our position there."

"Let us go back at once, then," and Katey made a hurried, trembling movement to put on her shawl.

"We cannot start at present. A stage will pass here in an hour or more on its way to A. We must take that."

Again he rose and paced the floor. Then he paused. "You promised yesterday that when I bade you leave La Fayette you would go, did you not?"

"Yes."

"What, if I say now, do not return there? Indeed," he added quickly, "there is but one way in which I dare let you go back. Child! what might they not say to youdo to you! Go home to your sister.'

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"

And let the teachers and the girls believe I was ashamed to return? And have strange stories come creeping after me? O never! How can you ask it? Besides, I cannot, if I would. Mrs. Estemere is abroad. The house is closed."

"Why don't you think of yourself?" she asked presently, breaking the stillness of the room with the voice which held a little tremor yet. "What will you do? How can you go back? They distrust you now. You are a marked man in the town, I know. You acknowledge that you may have to leave at any time. They will say-"

"What will they say?" He turned his head but not his eyes, as he waited for her to go on.

"They will say-" “Well?”

have run away with one of

That you the teachers." But if I return?"

That will make no difference. They will ask what has become of me."

He crossed the room and stood before her. "Miss Earle, will you be my wife? Katey shrank back without speaking. A shadow touched his face.

"It is too soon, I see," he said. And "You are too generous," she replied at the same moment.

"I fear I am not generous at all," he said. "I have thought for a long time that I should some day ask you that question. Years hence, perhaps, when I dared hope you would not say no.'

And you ask me now because I am homeless?"

He took up her words eagerly.

"Yes, because you are homeless, and in trouble; because there is no one now to care for you but me! I wish with all my heart that you were alone in the world, as you are alone here. I could almost desire you to be cast out and despised, so that I—"

He stretched his arms towards her, but Katey, drawing back into her shadowy corner, gazed at him with fixed and frightened eyes. His arms fell, he turned abruptly to the window.

There was silence in the little, low room. Then by and by a hand touched the Professor's arm. Katey's face was very pale and grave.

"Would it be better for you—would it be easier for you to go back if you were married to me?"

"I suppose so. But don't think of that. I shall do well enough," and he made a little effort to shake off her hand.

"Then if you please," she went on meekly, "I will be your wife."

"And sacrifice yourself in your generosity? Not to me."

Then you

will not take me?" A great flood of red swept over his forehead. He leaned his head against the window-frame.

"Go away, please, or I shall say yes, and be ashamed of myself afterwards."

"And-and it wouldn't be a sacrifice. It frightened me at first, it was so strange; and it seemed such a little time since-" Then she broke down.

He laid her head against his shoulder, and stroked her hair, as he might have done to one in trouble, not so dear to him as she.

"You cannot love me? That is so, is it not?" and a sigh moved Katey's cheek where it lay.

"I don't know," she answered, hiding her face.

"I think I will be persuaded to take you," he said with a little low laugh. "The benefit of the doubt is mine." Then he was grave again. "At least you are not afraid to put your future into my hands? You can trust me, can you not?" He raised her face so that he could look into her eyes.

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Entirely," and she laid her two hands in his as the door opened.

CHAPTER XXV.

A BEGGAR-MAID.

IT was the mistress of the house who thrust her head in to say,

"The stage is coming down the hill." "Very well, we are ready," replied the Professor. "Our preparations for departure are tolerably simple," he added, taking up his hat.

It was a heavy, old-fashioned coach which drew up before the door at sight of the waiting party, after an alarming swoop at the small house. The driver swung himself down from his place. There was but one passenger inside; an old lady of prim, genteel air, with soft curls of white hair upon each side of her delicate face, and a large black satin reticule in her lap. Katey was conscious of painful embarrassment as she took the seat beside her. The judgment of the world, the speech of people had become all at once matters of most vital interest. She felt the old lady's eyes fixed upon the rents in her gown, which would obtrude themselves in spite of her efforts at concealHer companion was wondering

ment.

who this girl could be?-aristocratic in appearance, picked up at a lonely farmhouse, with not so much as a hand-satchel for luggage, dressed in a pretty, but shockingly torn gown, with a gentleman attendant of whom she seemed strangely shyand her wonder checked the sentence upon her lips-a passing remark about the weather. weather. Katey felt the glance without seeing it. She felt too, the slight drawing away of the neat black skirts. "O dear!' she thought, "it must be that I do not look respectable!" and involuntarily she glanced down upon the poor despised gown, and the one glove, held fast from an instinct of propriety, the other having disappeared somewhere in her wanderings. Was Professor Dyce ashamed of her? She turned anxiously to the corner where he sat, only to meet the questioning glance of a pair of keen, gray eyes, and a smile which set her fears at rest. She could bear it if he did not care, and she shook out her drapery as though it had been rustling silk, and settled herself anew before closing her eyes and resigning herself to sleep. She was conscious occasionally of the rolling, rattling motion as they flew down the long rough hills, or climbed others slowly, swinging to and fro; of a pause once, and the sound of voices; then at last the jolting over pavements aroused her. They were descending again, but more deliberately, a wide river wound away below them; the street was crowded and noisy, and full of life; beyond the river another city spread itself as far as the eye could see. rubbed her eyes, bewildered by the change. There was a heavy lurch, a smooth roll, a pause, the snort of steam, the sound of machinery.

Katey

"Where are we?" she asked aloud, and sat upright.

"We are crossing the ferry to A—," the Professor replied.

"Where do you want to go?" asked the driver thrusting his head in at the window.

"We will get out here, and walk up," and the Professor assisted Katey to alight. "Good bye," she said pleasantly to the little old lady in the corner. "O, I am not at all dreadful; only I have spoiled my gown," she wanted to add, as the twinkling eyes stared in perplexity a moment, then the white curls bobbed graciously. They reached the other side, and, mingling with the crowd, pressed forward up the narrow, dirty streets, and out at last into an open

space, edged by the water upon one side and by a thronged street upon the other. Here where the river bent and bore away, a bit of the shore had been reserved from commerce, squalor and dirt. Broad, white stones were under one's feet, all around were trees and flowers jealously guarded,— poor, gaily-dressed prisoners behind iron bars, and scattered here and there seats, where the tired and foot-sore might rest. Away beyond all was the open bay, blue and twinkling under the bright sky, ploughed into snowy furrows by the steamers, or white with gleaming sails.

"O, how beautiful!" cried Katey. The wind seized the little gray hat with its scarlet wing; it caught her frayed gray gown as she stood with her bare hands clasped, her face like a song. A party of handsomely dressed people turned to stare at the figure. One of the young men raised his eyeglass and scanned her with open, impertinent admiration. "I tell you, Guy, there's a study;" he said to his companion.

Katey caught the words-met the stare. "O, please, let us go on," and she hurried forward, glad to be hidden again in the crowded street. They were approaching the first of the many spires she had marked from the boat. It was upon an old church, left here by an odd chance, it would seem, in the midst of the whirl of business, like some grim old apostle planting its feet firmly upon the pavement, though jostled and edged and pushed by men in their greed for gain. And the text swung out on its silvery chimes in summer's heat or winter's cold, when storms wrapped the belfry round, or the sunshine fell like a blessing upon the wild, restless heart of the city, was ever the same: "Ye cannot serve God and Mammon! Ye cannot serve God and Mammon !"

Upon one side was the church-yard. Ah! how heavy must be the slumber which all this tumult had no power to awaken! Upon the other, a little garden, full of flowers-gay verbenas, tall, gaudy dahlias, and close against the wall a tangle of sweet peas. Some street children, straying in through the tall iron gate, moved about the narrow paths, staring awe-struck and wondering at the blossoms. Religion, of which these waifs knew nothing, may seem more beautiful some day-who knows?-for the fragrance of the flowers growing under the shadow of the church walls.

Katey paused to peer through the open

gateway. The Professor pushed aside the gate, and went in like a man who has a purpose. She followed, but it was only when she stood in the deep-arched doorway and he looked back to her, with his hand upon the door, that she realized why they had come here.

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Is it now?" she asked with a frightened voice, leaning against the stones.

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Are you sorry? Do you repent? Wait-think a moment," and his hand fell from the door. from the door. "It is not yet too late."

The noise of the street was in her ears; the voices of the children, the odor of the flowers, came to her. Afterwards, when she remembered this time, all these were more vividly present to her mind than any words.

"You are not a child, that I should lead you against your will. Still, God knows, I have thought this best for you. And yet," he added, "if you should ever regret it! I could not bear that, Katey!"

The children shouted at their play. Their shrill voices sounded above the roar of the city. All at once the tones of the organ rolled out, bearing the chanted prayer to her ears. She had not thought of a service at this hour, and upon a weekday, as it was. It came in a great wave, dying away in the lingering A-men." Katey had listened breathlessly. She drew a long sigh at its close.

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"I am not sorry," she said softly. "It frightened me, that is all. It is so sudden and strange. No, I do not repent, and I am ready now."

He pushed open the inner door. The service was just concluded, the last strains of the organ floating off among the groined arches of the roof. A soft twilight enwrapped the clustered columns; the rays of sunlight through the rich stained windows fell aslant upon the floor in quivering rainbows. There was no congregation, save an old woman, who rose from kneeling in a pew behind one of the pillars to shuffle softly out, and a party of strangers -an elderly gentleman and a young girl who had been sitting near the door. They, too, rose now and began to walk about, pausing to examine the carved designs over the organ-loft.

The clergyman, in his white gown, closed the book before him with a hasty movement, and disappeared through a little door behind the desk. He was a young man. Did he find the service a weariness so soon? Or was he impatient