Some natures seem magnetic; they attract and draw us almost without our own volition. With others we make no way, months and years of intercourse will not bind us more closely. We are not on the same plane. Olivia's sympathetic manner, the pitying kindness in her eyes, appealed strongly to Greta Williams, the lonely girl--isolated by the worst curse that can affect humanity--grievous hereditary vice--the innocent scape-goat of another's sin. Alas, how many homes even in our favoured land are desolated as well as desecrated from this one cause. What piteous waste of sweet young life, crushed under unnatural burdens. The sin of England, we say--the shameful curse of diseased self-indulgence. Greta Williams seemed patient by nature; though it was a relief to talk openly to another woman, she did not complain. In spite of her father's faults, he was evidently very dear to her. "It is a disease--a madness," she said once, "but it would never do to have young people here; one could not be sure, and for his sake it is better not," and in these few words there lay a world of tragedy. To love, and yet not to be sure that the object of our love will not disgrace us. What misery to a refined and sensitive nature, to have to blush and grow pale from very shame and terror; to stretch out a helping hand to some dear one who has sunk too low to reach it. Ah, only One, the All-merciful, can rightly gauge the anguish of such a sorrow. No wonder Greta Williams looked so worn and pale, and that her eyes had grown sad. "He is worse than he has ever been," she whispered, presently. "Dr. Luttrell does not tell me, but I know he was alarmed for him that night. He has been so much better lately," she went on, with a little sob in her throat. "I had felt almost comfortable; not quite comfortable, you know, because it never really lasted, but he liked me to read to him, and we played chess; but now"--her voice dropped into weariness--"I shall never feel quite easy again." Olivia had long ago outstayed an ordinary conventional visit; but Marcus had sent her for a purpose: she was to try and cheer, and, if possible, comfort, this poor girl, so, when Greta rang for tea, she simply stayed on, and towards the end of her visit she thought her young hostess looked a shade brighter. "You will come and see me," she said when she rose to take leave; but Miss Williams hesitated. "Will you forgive me if I do not return your call just now? I simply dare not leave the house. You understand, do you not, Mrs. Luttrell? but if you would be so very kind as to come again." "Most certainly I will come again; did you think that I should not? but, dear Miss Williams, you must not shut yourself up too closely, or your health will suffer." But Greta only smiled faintly at this.