"I cannot leave you without saying, if we never meet again, I shall die blessing you for your goodness to Stella and to me. Miss Howard, you have opened a new future before me. You—but I cannot,—I ought not to say more. Will you add one favor to the many I have received at your hands? Will you answer a letter from me? May I tell you of my visit to my native land, to the graves of my parents?" He fixed his eyes full on hers, which at last fell before the ardor of his gaze, while she answered frankly,— "Mr. Angus, for Stella's sake and for your own, I shall be very glad to hear from you. My time will be spent among my poor. If I find anything to interest you, I will certainly write in answer to yours." Marion was practical rather than sentimental, and she plunged into the business of life as though nothing more than usual had occurred. In one day, she visited Mary Falkner at the Home, gave music lessons to four pupils, went with Hepsey nearly a mile to inquire for one of her mission boys, and brought home for evening work one of the rolls from the mission chapel, in order to stencil an additional hymn upon it. Still, wherever she went, however employed her thoughts were with a lonely traveller whom the waves were every hour carrying farther and farther away. While driving, with Hepsey by her side, through the thronged thoroughfares, or sitting at her own well-spread board, the question constantly recurred: "Why did he say, 'if we never meet again'? Does he not expect to return?" Then her pulse beat more warmly as she recalled the expression of his eye, and added, "I know he hoped we should meet again." In the morning Mr. Lambert called, and found her leaning over the large table in the dining room, printing with the stencil plate the hymn, work which company had obliged her to postpone the previous evening. He had scarcely taken his seat before he began to scold her. "You ought to have a guardian," he began, in loud voice. "Pale as ashes,—taking work out of the printer's hands, too. Well, they may starve for all I care. World upside down, as usual." "Will you please help me roll this?" asked Marion, turning an arch, smiling face full upon him. "It must be held very tight, or it will wrinkle. Mr. Lambert, why don't you help me in my mission school?" "Help—mission school—insane idea—couldn't get any scholars— pretty teacher, indeed!" He grumbled away for some time to himself, and finally ended with a fit of laughter. "All nonsense,—throwing away money on bummers, stuff and nonsense—embryo thieves and murderers." He walked to the window, pretended to be examining the flowers in the conservatory, pulled out his purse and quickly concealed a bill in his hand just as Marion, who had finished her work, said, pleasantly,— "You needn't try to deceive me with your grumbling: I found you out long ago. You would go a mile any time to carry food to the hungry, only you would want the privilege of scolding them afterwards."