“Oh, Clare, have you heard? have you heard?” she eagerly whispered. There was no time to say more; the services were recommenced, and the congregation attentive. When the usual morning exercises were over, a portion of the congregation retired, while the other remained for the communion. Clare was not a communicant, but she stayed in the pew to wait for Margaret. Not with the first circle, nor yet with the second, but meekly with the third, Margaret approached the Lord’s table. Mr. Wellworth administered the wine, and one of the deacons the bread. Margaret knelt near the center of the circle, so that about half the set were served before the minister came to her. And when he did, instead of putting the blessed chalice into her hand, he stooped and whispered: “Miss Helmstedt, I would prefer to talk with you again before administering the sacrament to you.” This in face of the whole assembly. This at the altar. Had a thunderbolt fallen upon her head, she could scarcely have been more heavily stricken, more overwhelmed and stunned. This, then, was the third offering; the comfort of the Christian sacraments was sacrificed. No earthly stay was left her now, but the regard of her stern father and the love of Ralph. Would they remain to her? For her father she could not decide. One who knew him best, and loved him most, had died because she dared not trust him with the secret of her life. But for Ralph! Ever at the thought of him, through her deeper distress, the great joy of faith arose, irradiating her soul and beaming from her countenance. But now, alas! no thought, no feeling, but a sense of crushing shame possessed her. How she left that spot she never could have told! The first fact she knew was that Clare had left her pew to meet and join her; Clare’s supporting arm was around her waist; Clare’s encouraging voice was in her ears; Clare took her from the church and placed her in her carriage; and would have entered and sat beside her, but that Margaret, recovering her presence of mind, repulsed her, saying: “No, Clare! no, beloved friend! it is almost well to have suffered so much to find a friend so loyal and true; but your girlish arm cannot singly sustain me. And you shall not compromise yourself for me. Leave me, brave girl; leave me to my fate!” “Now may the Lord leave me when I do! No, please Heaven, Clare Hartley stands or falls with her friend!” exclaimed the noble girl, as she entered and seated herself beside Margaret. “Drive on, Forrest,” she added, seeing Miss Helmstedt too much preoccupied to remember to give the order. “My father was not at church to-day. So if you will send a messenger with a note from me to Dr. Hartley, I will remain with you, Margaret, until your father arrives.” “Oh, Clare! Clare! if you hurt yourself for me, I shall never forgive myself for allowing you to come.” “As if you could keep me away.” “Clare, do you know what they say of me?”