in mingled grief and thankfulness, he turned furiously upon John, who was just retiring, and shaking his fist in his face, cried out: "How dare you interfere with me, sir? I'll not put up with this insolence from my sisters' discarded music-master." The face of the other flushed crimson for a moment, then with unruffled voice he replied: "Better, Mr Mark, to be a master of music and of one's self, than a slave of the drink. I wish you good evening." CHAPTER NINE. THE CRISIS. Several weeks had passed by after the accident and timely rescue, weeks of anxious watching and tender nursing, before Mary Franklin was sufficiently recovered from the shock and injuries she had received to appear again among her friends. Many had been the inquiries made by Mark and Mr Tankardew, and once or twice by John Randolph. It was on a calm Sabbath morning that mother and daughter first walked beyond their own grounds, and made their way to the little village church. Public thanks were offered that day for Mary's wonderful preservation, and many a loving eye looked through tears at the pale, serene face of her who had been so mercifully rescued. Was Mark Rothwell there?--no; but there was one who could not help gazing for a few moments, with a deeper sentiment than admiring pity, at the fair young girl, as the words of holy praise "for the late mercies vouchsafed unto her" were uttered by the minister: it was John Randolph. They met after service at the gate of the churchyard, and the young man having expressed his heartfelt congratulations, after a moment's hesitation offered Mary his arm, which she gently declined. A slight shade of mingled shame, sadness, and annoyance clouded his face for a moment, and as quickly passed away. Mary was struggling to say something to him expressive of her gratitude, but before she could put it into shape he was gone. The next day brought Mr Tankardew to "The Shrubbery." The old man drew Mary to him in the fulness of his heart, and blessed her, calling her his child. "Well, what have the doctors made of you?" he asked, rather abruptly. "Made of me?" asked Mary, laughing. "Yes, made of you, they never could make anything _of_ me or _by_ me; but what have they made of _you_?" "You puzzle me," replied the other. "Did they put labels on all their physic bottles?" "My dear sir," interposed Mrs Franklin, "I'm thankful to say that our doctor has prescribed little else than rest and tonics." "And were the tonics labelled?" "Oh! I understand you now. Mary has not broken her pledge, she would take no wine." "Excellent girl! Of course she was ordered wine?" "Oh! Yes; and ale or porter too. The doctor almost insisted on it." "Of course he did; they always do. Ah! Well! Brave girl! You said no." "Yes, I felt convinced that I should do as well without beer or wine, and I have had no cause to regret that I did not take them."