"Darling Rose: I am in great trouble, and you must help me. You are the only friend I have in the world--but no, I must not say that; it is not true. What I mean is, you are the only friend at home I can trust. "Father and mother, and you, too, think I am in Portsmouth with your family. Dear Rose, I am in London--I have been in London all the week. The happiness of my life is in your hands--remember that. "I went down to Portsmouth, but I only stayed two days. I told your father I had to pay a visit to other friends, and he believed me. And now I hear he is in London and, of course, will come to the house. He is the only person you must tell; you must beg him not to say a word about my going from Portsmouth; you must make him promise; you don't know what depends upon it. Speak to him quietly, and say he must not betray me; he will do anything for you. "Dear, darling Rose, I have a secret that I cannot disclose yet. I will soon, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps in a week--I cannot fix a time, because it does not depend upon me. But remember my happiness is in your hands. Your loving "Ruth." The young girl was bewildered and distressed by this communication. They had all believed that Ruth was on a visit to Rose's family, and Rose had received letters from her with the Portsmouth postmark on them. It was true that Ruth had asked her, as a particular favor, not to reply to the letters, and though Rose considered it a strange request, she had complied with it. Ruth's stronger will always prevailed with her. But what did it all mean? If Ruth had been in London a week where was she stopping? Rose's character could hardly as yet be said to be formed; it was sweet, but it lacked decision, and she looked helplessly round as if for guidance. She was glad when Prissy knocked at her door and said that her father was downstairs. Part of the responsibility seemed to be already lifted from her shoulders. "Prissy," she said before she went down, "you haven't spoken to anyone about the letter?" "No, miss." "Don't say anything about it, please. Mrs. Cohen is not well, and the doctor is very particular that she shall not be bothered or worried. "I won't say anything, miss." She shook her head gravely as Rose tripped downstairs and muttered: "Trouble's coming--or my name aint what it is." "I am so glad you are here, father," said Rose; "I have something to tell you." "I have something to tell you, Rose," said Mr. Moss. "Such an odd impression! Of course I must be mistaken. But first I want to know how Mrs. Cohen is. I thought she was not looking strong to-day." Rose told him of the doctor's visit and the instructions he had given, and then handed him Ruth's letter, which he read in pain and surprise. "I don't like the look of it, Rose," he said. "I hate mystery, and I cannot decide immediately whether it ought to be kept from Mr. Cohen." "Oh, father!" cried Rose. "Ruth will never forgive me if I betray her."