could see her sailor hat and half of her face when she sat down and watched her intently. Once it occurred to him to wonder if Clarice were there. But no, she would never appear in public the Sunday before her marriage, and the Percy pew was occupied by strangers, and behind it in a corner, nearly as much sheltered from observation as he was himself, was Miss Phebe Hansford. Knowing her prejudice against “Fashion’s Bazaar,” Jack could scarcely believe his eyes. Yet there she was,—joining in the service and slightly bowing in the creed;—then, as if remembering herself and her principles, giving her head an upward jerk and standing through the remainder of the creed as stiff and straight as a darning needle. Jack could not repress a smile as he watched her, dividing his attentions pretty equally between her and Elithe, until the offertory, when the latter stood up to sing alone. At first her voice shook a little, and Jack was afraid she would break down. But as she gained courage her voice rose louder and clearer,—making those who had never seen her before wonder who she was,—with notes which, if not tuned to the highest culture, were pure and sweet as a bird’s. She was achieving a great success, and Jack felt proud of her, and thought of the miners’ camp, where she sang to him of “Rest for the weary,” with the wind sweeping through the cañons and the rain beating dismally against the window. That was a long time ago, and she was here in Oak City, singing to a fashionable audience, and he was listening to her and forgetting the nightmare which had oppressed him. He had an ear as acute as Miss Hansford’s, and knew when Elithe flatted on high G, and was sorry she did it, but consoled himself with the thought that not one in fifty of the congregation would notice it. The plate was coming down to him by this time, for the song was ended and Elithe, with a look of relief, was fanning herself with her music. Now was Jack’s time to leave, he thought, and, taking his satchel, he rose to go. A shake of the old sexton’s head made him sit down and sent his hand into his pocket. He had not intended giving anything, but, changing his mind, he dropped a silver dollar in the plate and was rewarded by Pete with a nod of satisfaction. As it chanced his offering was the only silver dollar given that morning, and after the awful tragedy Pete went to the treasurer and exchanged a bill for it, keeping Jack’s dollar as a souvenir to be exhibited to many curious people, who looked at it and handled it with a feeling that it was something sacred, because the last money which the dead man’s hands had touched.