probably checked her eagerness to make known her whereabouts to Arthur. She was one of those women by whom the possession of a child is looked upon as a very sacred thing--one of the many of her sex was she who are not and cannot be wholly and completely women till the ineffable joys, the pains, and pleasures of maternity, have set their stamp upon the youthful brow, and called forth the slumbering but best and deepest feelings of their nature. Strange as it may seem, Honor’s liking--friendship, call it what you will--was but another phase and form of mother’s love. Arthur was, or at least he said he was, unhappy; he was in debt and difficulty--possibly, too, in disgrace; surely these were reasons for the granting him the tender pity that is akin to love--the pity that every true and devoted mother feels for the helpless children of her affection. Thinking of Arthur Vavasour--thinking of him alternately with her gradually-increasing sorrow for the husband she had deserted--Honor passed the hours wearily enough away, and it was something of a relief when, about five o’clock, Mrs. Casey, slightly improved in appearance by the afternoon’s “cleaning,” knocked at the door, and a good deal more familiarly than was altogether agreeable to Honor, inquired of that mysterious young person whether she didn’t feel inclined to take anything. “Only some tea,” Honor said, “and soon, please.” She was beginning to feel rather faint from fasting, and the thought of tea and bread-and-butter, albeit the cates to be provided by Mrs. Casey were little likely to be tempting, was rather agreeable to her imagination.