"At last I myself behaved like an ass. I went and knelt down beside her so as to get quite close to her, and I began to comfort her. I told her not to mind about the references; that she might have me for a reference all the days of her life; that she should have the situation at Rockhold, where I would convey her and introduce her on my own responsibility. "While I spoke to her I laid my hand on the little golden-haired head and smoothed it all the time. Out of pity, Cora, I assure you on my honor, out of pity. After a while her sobs seemed to subside slowly. I told her that her face was to me a sufficient recommendation in her favor, and all-sufficient testimonial of character; but that I must have her confidence in exchange for my own. "You see, Cora, I was very sorry for the poor, pretty creature, and was really anxious to befriend her; but also my curiosity was keenly piqued. I wished to know her private history, and so I assured her that she should have the position she wanted on the condition of telling me her antecedents. "At last she yielded, and told me the story of her short, willful life. This, then, was her poor, little, pathetic story. "Her name was Ann White. She was the daughter of Amos White, an English curate, living in a remote village in Northumberland, and of his first wife, who had died during the infancy of her youngest child, Ann, a year after which her father had married again. Ann's step-mother was one of the most beautiful women in England, and--one of the most discontented, as the wife of a widowed clergyman who was old enough to be her father, who had three sons and two daughters by a former marriage, and who was trying to support his family on a hundred pounds a year. Yet, so long as her father lived, Ann's childhood was happy. But her father, who had been a consumptive, also died when Ann was about seven years old. Then the family was broken up. The three step-sons went to seek their fortunes in New Zealand. The eldest step-daughter had been married and had gone to London a few months before her father's death; the younger step-daughter went to live with that married sister. Ann and her step-mother were permitted to remain at the parsonage until the successor of Amos White could be appointed. At last the new curate came--a handsome and accomplished man--Rev. Raphael Rosslynn. He was a bachelor, without near relatives. He called on the Widow White and at once set her heart at ease by begging her not to trouble herself to leave the parsonage, but to remain there for the present at least, and take him as a boarder. He was perfectly frank with the lovely widow, and told her that he was engaged to his own cousin, and that as soon as he should get a living promised him on the death of the present incumbent, and which was worth twelve hundred pounds a year, he should marry, but that he could not allow himself to anticipate happiness that must rise on a grave. But in the course of the year that which might have been