"I am engaged this evening, James, if any one calls," remarked Marion, as they rose from the table and returned to the parlor. "Now, Mr. Angus I want to introduce you to my dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, who have kindly made a home for me." The conversation for a few moments was of a general character, and then Mrs. Mitchell said,— "We should be happy to entertain you to-night, Mr. Angus. James will show you to your room, when you wish to retire. I will not say good-by, as I shall see you at the breakfast-table." It was evidently a relief that the restraint of others' presence was removed. The pastor wanted time to realize his new situation,—freed from the harrowing reminiscences which had so long oppressed him,— and especially he wanted to narrate to the dear friend who had done so much for him and his sister the actual experiences she now only surmised. He sat quietly following with his eyes her movements as she placed a screen on the gas-shade, moved a vase of flowers to the table, folded a newspaper, and performed those little acts of womanly refinement which make the delight and comfort of a home. "May I tell you now," he said, softly, as she seated herself opposite him; "and will you be charitable toward the faults of a wayward youth, as you have been to the failings of the man?" Her bright smile encouraged him, and he dashed into his story at once. "I was born in Doncaster, Yorkshire, twenty-nine years ago. Two years later I had a sister Stella. When I was ten and Stella eight, my mother died, leaving behind her an infant boy, whom father named Wilson, for his maternal grandfather. A sister of my father came to keep house, and care for the baby. I might have helped her, but I fear I made her hard task harder. Stella was naturally wilful, strong in her likes and dislikes, capable of the warmest affections. She took little Will, as we always called him, to her heart, and made an idol of him. "Father never seemed the same after mother's death. I can remember him sitting, his arms folded, lost in his own thoughts and memories of the past. "I grew up with little restraint. To do myself justice, I pitied father so much that I often went away and wept. I loved Will too; but Stella was jealous if I separated him from her, and I gradually let him alone, except as I wanted to tease her. "Occasionally, when I was too abusive, she appealed to father; otherwise she took Will and shut herself in a room with him, where I could not get at her.